


Bite the Bullet

by hothead



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diego Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Diego Hargreeves-centric, Gen, Ghost Ben Hargreeves, Ghost Diego Hargreeves, Ghosts, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Misunderstandings, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Shit's about to go down, Siblings, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25551721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hothead/pseuds/hothead
Summary: “Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.”(Diego Hargreeves dies on a wet and icy Tuesday in December of 2011. Eight years and numerous run-ins later, his siblings have yet to realize. Well...most of them.)
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Eudora Patch, Diego Hargreeves & The Hargreeves
Comments: 197
Kudos: 635





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I really go there? Yes, yes I did. Thank you for all the love on my last Diego-centric fic, by the way, and I hope you enjoy this one just as much. I've planned out about ten-ish chapters, but that may change somewhat.
> 
> Trigger warnings are available in the end-notes if you need them.

* * *

**December 6th, 2011**

“Hey! Hey, buddy!”

Diego peels his eyes open. The taxi driver, twisted around to glare at him through the plexiglass separating them, slaps his seat again. Once he scrubs at his eyes, Diego comes to the realization that the engine is off. Fuck. Had he really fallen asleep in the back of some nasty old cab? He must’ve been more tired than he thought...

The driver scoffs. “You getting out or not, huh? I ain’t got all day to sit around waiting on you to sober up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Diego grumbles. He fishes his last handful of cash out, shoves it at the guy, and grabs his bag. “Thanks for the ride.” As soon as he’s out of the cab, ice crunching underfoot, Diego slams the door. _“Asshole.”_ The taxi drives away, kicking up snow and slush behind its tires.

He turns on the empty sidewalk, taking in the flashing neon ‘MOTEL 24/7’ sign above him. Other than that, the street is devoid of color, of life. It's all industrial buildings, the gray overpass overcasting the entire area. A dog is barking off in the distance, and a siren wails on and off. It’s so far from the Academy, with its antique furniture and priceless paintings and hand-carved doors, that Diego finds it laughable.

The old man would drop dead if he saw one of his precious little puppets slumming it in on the worst side of town. Although...maybe he was pretty used to it, given how Klaus had turned out.

Diego checks his watch. It’s close to six, nearing dusk, and he told Dora to call the front desk on the dot. He slings his bag, which contains all he owns, over one shoulder, and strolls inside.

It’s a dive. That much is evident at first glance; dingy and stinking of things he doesn’t even want to think about, Diego can’t say there’s any charm to be found in this dump. The guy behind the check-in desk is halfway done with a cigarette and, given the smoking ashtray at his elbow, he’s already worked through at least two cartons too.

“Hey,” Diego says, coming to a stop in front of the counter. The guy bats a lazy eyelid and doesn’t even look up from the gun magazine he’s leafing through. “Uh, hello? I’ve got a reservation.” Nothing. “In the name of...” Fuck, what name had Dora given him? “Smith.”

No reaction. Diego watches the guy turn the page, feels his eye twitch. _Cool it,_ he tells himself. _Don’t get yourself kicked out on the first night._

“Look,” he says as calmly as he can. “I’ve had a really, _really_ bad day. Just give me the damn room key, okay? I’m not in the mood for this crap.”

The guy drags his eyes up to Diego, unimpressed. “I’m on break,” he says. “For,” He glances back at the clock on the wall, _“ehhh,_ two minutes.”

_Don’t kill him, don’t kill him, don’t -_

He reaches over the counter, grabs a random key card.

“Wait!” the guy yelps, springing out of his chair. “You can’t take that!”

“Room’s paid for upfront,” Diego calls over his shoulder as the bell tinkles above his head, and he walks back out into the snowy parking lot. There are four cars in total, all old and beat-up, so at least he won’t be woken up by his neighbors' weird noises at all hours of the night. “Thanks for nothing.”

The door slams shut behind him, and Diego whistles to himself as he looks for room 116, which is apparently what he’s allocated himself. It’s on the first floor, right off the parking lot, and there’s a single lace-curtained window into the darkened room.

He swipes the keycard and is hit by the smell of must and old carpet as soon as he opens the door. “Home sweet home,” he mutters, flicking on the light.

The room is...what he expected, honestly. It has peeling floral wallpaper, a queen-size bed with one sad pillow, a haunted-looking chair, and a grimy bathroom. There is a TV, though, so that’s a bonus. Diego can't remember the last time he watched good TV.

Plus, it’s better than going back to the Academy. He had stuck around for Ben’s funeral, and that had been it. If Klaus or Allison or Luther decide to kick the bucket, well, they’ll be outta luck, because Diego's done with that place. For good, this time.

He locks the door, deadbolts it, and dumps his stuff on the bed, where it sits - taunting him. _You’re a failure, Diego,_ it whispers. _Look at you. You’re a failure. Here you are, listening to a bag of all things._

Diego kicks the dresser, but that doesn’t make him feel any better, so drops his coat by the door and is readying himself to collapse face-first into the sad, lonely pillow when the phone rings. He near-about jumps out of his skin.

“What?” he asks as soon as he picks up.

“What gratitude from the guy I’ve paid to put up in a motel,” Dora replies dryly. Diego can imagine her smiling, leaning against the wall in the cafeteria with that cock to her hip that says, ‘just try me.’ “How’s the east side treating you?”

“Like shit. Dora, why’d you set me up here?”

She huffs. _“Because,_ Diego Hargreeves, _you_ decided to have the bright idea to get yourself _expelled._ Four months before graduation!”

Four months before graduation. Four months before they went down to the station together to take the civil service exam. Four months before Diego could have made something of himself, something he could've been proud of.

But where is he instead? Some run-down motel in the scummiest neighborhood in the city, an expulsion on his record, and all his worldly possessions in a bag that he’s anthropomorphized into insulting him.

“I know,” he replies, holding his phone tight to his ear as he falls back onto the bed. It’s lumpy as all hell. “I _know,_ Dora. He just...I just -"

She cuts him off. “You’ve got to get a hold of your temper, Diego. You know what the recruiter said - 60 credits to qualify and a college degree. I even called them today -"

He sits up. “You did?” Did she really call the recruitment office? For _him?_

“Of course! And you know what they said?”

“That they’ll accept me with open arms?” he asks dryly.

“No, they said that you’re done. Terminado! You get that, right?” Dora’s tone softens a little, and Diego hates that his body relaxes, that he feels more at ease just at the sound of her voice. “They don’t take applicants with criminal records.”

He’s lost his chance once and for all.

No Police Academy, no sticking it to his family, no way for him to - _none_ -

“I’m such a screw-up.” Diego rubs his face. He’s not crying, but he’s not cried in years. Not at Ben’s funeral, even. He mostly just feels numb about things, and it’s an interesting coping method, for sure. One which, if he had a therapist, they would probably want to delve into. Tell him how messed up he actually is, as if Diego isn’t well-versed in his own unique brand of 'fuck up'. “I was so close.” Just four months...

Dora doesn’t refute it. “You were. You were, man, and it sucks.”

“Wow, thanks. That really cheers me up.”

“You don’t need cheering up, Diego,” she snaps. “You need a damn reality check. You can’t just slap on a mask and dole out whatever punishments you see fit, not when your dad isn’t around anymore to throw money at people. I get that you’re...sheltered, but it’s been three years! That’s enough time to know better.” The 'to do better' goes unsaid.

“I don’t wanna talk about this right now,” he says flatly. The ceiling is dotted with mold and water leaks from the room above. He traces one with his eyes, trying to decide if he wants to risk Dora breaking the door down to kick his ass if he hangs up. “How’s Alice?” If he can't be happy, at least Dora can. Even if it is with _Abby_ of all people.

“Her name’s Abby,” Dora says, sighing like she’s exhausted. “Please don’t try and change the subject; the conversation isn’t over -"

“Feels pretty _over_ to me, Dora. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Wait! Wait, Diego, don’t you dare -"

He slams the receiver down, and the resulting silence is deafeningly lonely. Diego scrubs at his tired face and feels the bristles on his cheeks that mean he needs to shave soon, lest he looks even more like a washed-up failure than he already does.

Why does Dora have to be so right about stuff, huh? And to rub it in his face... Diego already knows he’s screwed up massively. He wouldn’t be stuck in some run-down motel in drug town if that wasn’t the case.

Fuck, what would Ben think of him now? Or Five, for that matter. Those two always seemed destined for bigger things, while Diego had realistically seen himself dying young, in a blaze of glory if he was lucky. Instead, what is he? A college drop-out with no future, no friends, and no family, wasting his life away in some rat-infested motel. He might as well just give up at this point.

Then, as if god was pissing on him a bit more to make sure Diego really knew how pathetic he was, the wall began thumping. A girl moans theatrically, and a guy started to grunt and huff like a struggling steam engine. Diego couldn’t even find it within himself to be surprised. At this point, _why not?_ What else was there for life to throw at him?

He rolls over to throw an arm over his ear, but it’s no use. He isn’t getting _any_ sleep with this racket going on. Diego slides off the bed to stumble into the bathroom and let the buzzing off-yellow light illuminate the chipped green porcelain. Mom would have a field day with all this cleaning...

His own tired eyes stare back at him. He really does need that shave, given the scruff on his cheeks, but then again...who is he doing it to impress? Mister Asshole on the front desk? The rats in the walls?

“Way to go, idiot,” he tells himself, but that doesn’t make him feel any better. Klaus may be good at talking to himself, but Diego just feels like an idiot. As a kid, he’d always go to Mom if he wanted to talk. She was the best listener.

Diego stares some more, but his flat expression offers no advice, so he splashes his face with water, wipes it dry on his shirt, and heads back to look through his stuff. He’d packed in a hurry, hoping to avoid his weird roommate coming back to stare at him, so most of his clothes are probably well on their way to the city dump at this point. He’s got a few shirts from his laundry basket, his wallet, one of his Linguistics textbooks, his knife set, and, right at the bottom, his mask.

He picks it up and stares down at those familiar whited-out eyes, rubs a thumb over the supple black leather. It’s been, fuck, about two years since he wore this. The damn thing's been at the bottom of his bag since he moved out of the Academy; since Diego had snuck out late at night, too much of a coward to say goodbye to Mom or Luther and Klaus after...after the funeral. _Ben’s_ funeral.

“Maybe I should call." Just to check on things. He knows Klaus has moved out, had passed by a club on a jog once, and seen his brother sleeping rough on a bench outside it. He hadn't gone over to say hello, either. Just kept on running by, as if his own brother was just another homeless junkie.

Diego shakes his head. What is he thinking? Klaus doesn’t have an apartment to have a phone _in,_ and even if he did, Diego wouldn't have his number. What’s he going to do, call home and ask his dad how everyone’s been? ‘ _Hey, Dad, I know it’s been two years since I ran away, but how are you? Happen to have Klaus’ number by chance?’_

Diego carefully rolls open his knife set. They’re his prized possessions, and he takes care of them like he doesn’t take care of himself. Mom showed him the right polish and sharpening tools to use to keep them in tip-top condition. In fact, he’s going to need to buy all that stuff again if Dora hasn’t managed to save any of it from his dorm... Fuck knows his roommate's probably already pawned it all.

He straps on his holsters, selects a few of his favorite knives, and fishes the last of the adhesive glue out of his bag. It’s probably way out of date, but whatever. Beggars can’t be choosers.

It’s...well, not exactly a comforting weight on his face, but familiar. He blinks a few times, scrunches his face to get it to sit right, and then heads out. 

The parking lot is still dark, lit by only that flashing neon sign and the dodgy streetlights, but the winter chill is a refreshing breath of air after the must of his new home. A guy is skulking in the shadows, but that’s not unusual. Diego double-checks the lock on the door and keeps to the walls as he heads off down the street.

Despite what he’d thought earlier, the area is not entirely dead. Most of the goings-on are taking place down alleys or behind dumpsters, but he can feel the hum of activity all around him either way. A few working girls on a corner catch his attention. They’re dressed awfully for the weather, shivering in their heels and mini dresses. He wanders closer, ears pricked.

“- Angel,” one, dressed in pink, is saying. “Not since yesterday.”

The other, matching in shades of crimson, cocks her head. “That’s weird,” she says. “Are you sure? Not even back at the house?”

“Nah. Last saw her when we left the Lounge.”

“Shit. Well, you think we should tell Jo?”

Pink scoffs, grabs a cigarette from her purse, and lights up, the flash of the flame bright in the snowy evening. “What are you? Crazy? She’ll only take it out on us. You know how Donny gets.”

“Yeah, I guess. Now I’m just worried about Ange’. It’s not like her to skip town.”

“And leave ya hanging? This is why guys always take advantage of you, girl! They butter you up and then run off and leave you in the shit. Angel’s just another hick girl in way over her head. She likely went back to Ohio or - or wherever the fuck she’s from.”

Red chews her lip anxiously. “But -"

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” dismisses Pink. “And if Donny asks, you let _me_ handle it, yeah?”

Diego takes a considering step back; a missing sex worker seems simple enough. May be useful for his first foray back into vigilantism. He doesn’t want to go too hard in the beginning and end up in cuffs. That would definitely get word back to Dad and the thought of his old man finding out how much of a failure he is...no thanks.

He walks for a few blocks until he hits a commercial district busy with foot traffic: bars, nightclubs, and liquor stores, all in hot supply. Drunks stumbling about, picking fights, and generally being loud nuisances. The club those two sex workers had mentioned is booming at this hour - it’s called the Velvet Lounge, and about six scantily-clad girls are working the front sidewalk.

Okay, so plan B.

Diego takes off his mask, shoves it into his pocket. His holster isn’t ideal, but he’s gone out wearing it before and not had any weird looks. Most people just think he’s into some kinky shit, and in an area like this? It’s not out of place.

The bouncer stares him down when he strolls up at the door. “ID?” he asks eventually, massive arms folded. Diego could definitely take him, but he’s more pissed at getting ID’d. He has a fucking beard!

He coughs up his ID, which is, of course, very fake. Alejandro Smith, age 24. It receives a thorough inspection from the bouncer, who even holds it up to the light. Diego knows it’s okay, though; Dora’s cousin does it for a living, and he’d hooked Diego up as a favor for her.

“Chicago?” the bouncer asks skeptically, looking Diego up and down.

“What, a brown guy can’t be a Bulls fan?” He replies, snatching his ID back. “That’s racist, man.” Diego slides past him and into the neon-lit hallway of the dingy strip club.

The guy scoffs and calls after him: “Enjoy your night, kid!”

 _Kid._ Alright, whatever.

As soon as he gets inside, Diego’s assaulted with the sight of about a dozen half-naked girls; way more tits than he’s ever seen in his life. He keeps his eyes down as he heads to the bar, where a shirtless guy is serving up mojitos to a group of drunk college kids.

“Hey, man,” the guy says. “What can I get for you?”

Diego eyes a nearby platform, where a girl with short red hair is grinding salaciously on a pole to the thumping bass-line. He shakes his head, tosses the last of his cash down on the bar - two tens and a few loose cents. It’s not that much, but he gets the feeling this guy doesn’t pull in much working here anyway. Patrons save all their tips for the girls.

“I’m looking for Angel,” he says instead, ducking his head a little closer. “She working tonight?”

The guy stares at the money, then swipes it off the counter. He pours some water into a shot glass and sets it down. “I dunno, man,” he replies. “She’s supposed to be, but I ain’t seen her. You should try asking Brad.”

“Brad,” Diego repeats. “Who’s that?”

“Owner’s son,” the guy replies. He must’ve sensed the bouncer moving a little closer to them and been scared they’d be overheard because then he steps back. “Try the back.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Diego says, grabbing the shot of water and tossing it back. Anyone watching will just think it’s vodka. He turns and navigates around the tables of married businessmen and rowdy guys his own age, back past the main stage to a door marked _‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’_ There’s no one on watch, so he slips inside and puts his mask back on, feeling far away from the muffled thump of the music and all those writhing bodies.

It’s a long hallway, with quite a few doors and truly hideous carpeted floors. He pads on soft feet past the first few, as they’re all clearly labeled rooms for the girls to _entertain_ clients. Most are marked ‘occupied,’ and he doesn’t want to mess with that shit. These girls seem to be here willing enough, after all. At the rate he’s burning through the last of his cash, Diego might be joining them soon.

The door that truly catches Diego’s attention is half-open and lit by neon purple lights. It’s some sort of office, and there’s three guys inside, all young enough and dressed in designer clothes.

One of them, who he hedges a bet might be Brad judging by the way he’s sitting behind a desk with his feet up, is smoking a joint and chatting shit, while the other is sectioning out coke lines on a low table by the door. The third is on the couch, head tilted lazily like he’s really high.

The cokehead leans forward to snort one of the lines and leans back with a hearty sigh as soon as he’s done. “Jesus. Would it have killed you to get back earlier? My rhythms all fucked up now!”

“Oh, shut your mouth,” says maybe-Brad, the flame of his lighter casting tiny shadows on his face as he flicks it on and off again like a nervous tick. “It’s bad enough we’re stuck here doing fuck all, idiot. I’m bored as shit.”

“Yeah, when’s that whore coming in, man?” complains the guy on the couch. “I want some of that dirty pussy!” Diego pulls a face at that. Fucking nasty.

Maybe-Brad sucks his lip. “Ain’t she a piece of pie? Bitch does all the work for twenty _fucking_ dollars, and all we gotta do is sit back, relax, and get our cocks wet, eh?”

The cokehead laughs, pupils huge and uneven. Diego fucking hates drugs. They remind him of Klaus, and Klaus reminds him of shit he doesn’t want to think about, like Ben and Five.

He watches them laugh it up and wonders what he’s actually doing. A sex worker is missing, so what? She might be with a client or had gone home as those girls said and Diego’s...what? Making a fool of himself for no reason? Sticking his nose where it doesn't belong? Fuck this. It’s late, and he’s tired as shit. He should...he should go back to the motel. Get a good night’s sleep, and start looking for jobs in the morning. Maybe construction or something. Easy work that will keep his hands busy. Not this bullshit. He’s too old to be playing superheroes, anyway.

“What about that other girl?” one of the guys asks as Diego turns away, annoyed with himself for thinking he could keep this up. “What was her name again?”

“Oh, Angel?” Maybe-Brad asks.

Diego stops.

“Yeah, that one,” says the cokehead. “She put up much of a fight? You know, after you were done, I mean.”

“Nah, I like ‘em feisty, but she just cried,” Brad laughs. Diego can still hear the click-hiss of his lighter going on-off on-off. “Dad said she was a money drain anyway.” So that’s definitely the boss’ son, then. _Brad._ What a dumb frat boy name.

Wait. _Wait._

“Where’d you drop her anyway?” asks the other guy, sounding unbothered. “Back at the house? You were gone for ages, bro.”

Brad chuckles, like this bullshit is funny to him. “Nah, man. I couldn’t have her go squealing to the other girls ‘bout my manners and all that, could I? Choked her out in the back of the car and dumped her in the river. It’ll be a good few months before she washes up again, Dad says.” All three laugh.

Diego sees red.

He kicks the door opens, pulls a knife, and lunges on the cokehead to slit his throat. Hot blood sprays across the room, and the other two guys yell as it catches them. Fuck, he forgot how far arterial blood goes.

Diego drops the guy, where he lands face-first on his coke lines, and flips his knife. He’s showing off a little, but who’s gonna call him out on it? _These guys?_ He cocks his head. “Who’s next?”

“What the fuck!” Brad hollers. “Who the hell are you!?” He scrambles under the desk, probably for a gun or something, so Diego vaults the table and tackles him.

Brad goes down yelling and _fuck,_ that’s probably going to draw some pretty attention this way. Diego lands half on top of him, so he lands a solid punch, and Brad’s nose crunches satisfyingly.

What had he been _thinking?_ He’s missed this shit far too much to ever stop.

The other guy, who’d snuck up on him, gets in a good swing to the back of Diego’s head, and he falls to the side with his ears ringing. Luther’s hit him way harder than that in a competitive tussle, though, so he gets to his feet after a few seconds.

He grabs another knife, this one longer and with a thinner blade, which is better for stabbing and gutting. It arches through the air, and Brad’s mouth gapes wide as he’s dragged back by the force and pinned to the wall through his ear. He cries out in pain, but Diego’s a little busy grappling with the other guy.

The guy is wild, strengthened with adrenaline, so his strength probably outweighs Diego, much like his size. Still, Diego ducks under a second punch and kicks him in the ass hard enough to send him hurtling into the desk. He’s bent over like he enjoys the girls who work here, so Diego comes up behind him, wrenches his head back, and slits his throat. His aim must’ve been a _little_ off in his rusty technique, because the guy chokes and clutches his throat, trying to stem the fountain of red. Either way, he goes down soon enough, likely drowning on his own blood.

Whatever. Diego doesn’t have any sympathy for guys who laugh at girls getting murdered. They're pure scum.

He turns to Brad, who’s wide-eyed and shaking. His neck and hair are wet with blood from his ear, so Diego steps all up into his space. Brad breaks quickly.

“Please, man!” he cries. “I’ll give you whatever you want! Money...you name it, bro, just don’t kill me!”

“No, thanks,” Diego says, wiping his good knife clean on the guy’s shirt and sliding it back into his holster. He likes slitting throats, but Brad is rue scum, and he doesn’t deserve that quick death. How did he kill the girl again? Strangling? That sounds _mighty_ appealing right now... “Besides, bet you didn’t do Angel any favors when she begged, huh?”

Brad’s eyes bulge out of his pimply face. “That’s what all this is about? She’s just some hooker, man! She’s nothing to you!”

“She’s got family,” Diego snaps back, despite not knowing if that’s true. “Friends. People who miss her. Can’t say the same of you, _dude.”_ He pointedly looks at the two dead guys - one slumped over his cocaine, the other laying in a pool of blood behind the desk.

“Please -"

“You haven’t got anything I want anyway,” Diego says. Though he could do with some money, he doesn’t fuck with the stuff left after from missions. The cops could easily trace it. “Buenas noches.” He drives his knife at Brad’s gut.

“Wait!” he screams. “Wait, wait, I’ll tell you about the drugs!”

Diego stops and stares. Then he laughs. “You think I care about that shit?”

Brad gasps, close to hyperventilating. “You’re - you’re a wannabe Batman, right? Save old ladies and little kids? Well, you’ll want to hear this, I swear!”

He thinks for a moment. “Nah.” Diego guts him from groin to adam’s apple.

A blood-curdling scream erupts from Brad’s mouth as his guts pop out of his stomach and spill down onto the carpet. Diego had wisely stepped back before that happens, and he watches the guy try and push his insides back in with cold apathy. Dad has _really_ fucked him up emotionally, hasn’t he?

“See ya,” Diego tosses over his shoulder as he leaves. He feels inclined to whistle, but even he knows that might be treading too-far into ‘psycho killer’ territory.

There’s a fire exit door at the end of the hall, and Diego opens it to find himself out in the snow once again. It’s an alleyway behind the club, empty save for a few rats and an empty dumpster besides a pile of garbage bags.

He shuts the door and takes off his mask. There are no cameras, and he needs to look as inconspicuous as possible when security comes looking for whoever killed those three guys.

Diego leans back against the wall for a moment, feeling the cold bricks as a balm on his anger. He may not be able to save that girl, Angel, but he sure did avenge her. He’s tempted to report that back to the two sex workers from earlier but knows it’s a bad idea. If they snitch to the police, that just puts him in a nearer vicinity to the motel he’s staying at.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Diego jumps about a foot in the air. Fuck, how could he be so unobservant? He’s lost his edge already, and he’s only been out of the Academy five years!

The guy who’d snuck up on him, a short and nerdy-looking college kid, holds his hands up in the universal sign for ‘I come in peace.’ “Woah, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you there, man.”

Diego is sick and tired of people calling him ‘dude’ and ‘bro’ and ‘man.’ Didn’t anyone in this godforsaken city take proper English classes?

He pats away his racing heart, hand lowering from where it had shot to his knives. He’s not in the mood to deal with nice guys who stick their noses into other people’s business, but fighting his way out seems a bad idea. Diego’s not going to kill the guy for just being nosy, after all.

“It’s fine,” he says shortly. “I was just...thinking.”

_Thinking. Right. Nice save, Diego._

The guy laughs. “No, I get it. I do! This place can be a little overwhelming, right? Lots of girls.” He looks Diego over. “Or guys. Whatever you’re into.”

Diego’s not about to start discussing his sexuality with some 10-bit nerd, thanks very much. He studies the guy’s face and does a double-take. “Wait. You look familiar. Have we met?” Did he go to QCC too? Fuck. What were the chances? Running into an ex-classmate on the day he gets expelled.

“I don’t think so,” says the guy. “But now that you mention it, I recognize you too.” He cocks his head slowly. Diego’s skin prickles with unease. “You’re from the Umbrella Academy, aren’t you?”

Oh, _great._ Just what he needs. A fanboy cornering him right outside a club Diego had committed triple homicide in. He’s sure Dad would get a right laugh out of that when the call came in from the station.

“I think you’re mistaken,” Diego replies. He marches towards the guy with the intention of pushing past him.

“No, no - you’re Number Two, right? The knife-thrower.”

Diego feels his lip curl back. That stupid fucking name... “I don’t go by that anymore. Look, it was nice meeting you, but I should be going -"

“You’re not going anywhere,” says the guy, throwing out an arm to stop Diego passing by. He looks stronger closer-up, but still pretty weak. Diego could beat him in a heartbeat, and he’s got the feeling now that said beating might be required. Should he kill him? He knows Diego’s name and his face, and could easily report it to the police when they cordon off the scene.

“I’m not in the mood for a fight,” he says through clenched teeth. “Now, _move,_ before I _make_ you.”

Something hard jabs into his side, and Diego freezes.

“Step back nice and easy, okay?”

Diego does as he’s told. He holds his hands up and takes a significant step back. He’s fast, but not faster than a bullet. The guy waves his gun, and Diego ducks his head instinctively. “You gonna shoot me?” he asks.

The guy laughs. "No." He pulls a pen and napkin from his pocket, hands it over. "Sign it. At the bottom."

Diego stares at him, but another pointed jab of the gun into his ribs gets him signing. He writes 'Diego Hargreeves' at the bottom, as directed, and not 'Number Two' in an attempt to be somewhat vindictive. "You know, this doesn’t seem like something a fan would do.”

“A _fan?”_ the guy spits, and oh shit. Diego’s really screwed the pooch now, hasn’t he? “I’m no fan of yours, _Number Two.”_

He must’ve met this guy before. Seen him around, said something rude about him in class. There’s no way he just happens to run into a crazy guy who knows his identity and hates his guts all in one. “Did you follow me here?”

The guy shrugs. He snatches the napkin and pen away again, shoves them in his pocket. “No, first, I broke into your room. I saw the motel in Eudora’s address book and came down here. What do you know, the guy at the desk was more than willing to give me a key.”

Diego shivers. Then anger comes. “What the fuck? You broke into Dora’s room?” Fuck, fuck, is she okay? Did this whack job hurt her? If he so much as laid a finger on her -

“She’s fine,” the guy says dismissively. The gun flashes in the faint light from the street. As far down as they are, the people passing by on the sidewalk are none the wiser. So close, yet just out of reach. “I’d worry about yourself if I was you.”

“So, what, you broke into my friend’s room just to stalk me? How’d you know I’d be here?” He gestures at the club. Then it hits. In the parking lot of the motel, Diego had seen a figure. Short and dressed casually, standing in the shadows. Had that really been this guy? How could he have _missed_ that?

“I know you Umbrella Academy types. Always wanting to play the hero. You’re no different from the rest of them, Number Two, and this was the closest you could be to that past glory, wasn’t it? I guessed you wouldn’t have gone far and, well.” He shrugs. “I was right.”

That sounds way to fucking personal to just be a generalization. Diego looks him over even closer. “Wait. Wait, fuck, you’re in my Spanish History class.” He sits a few seats ahead of Diego, but never spoke much, even when called on. Diego had assumed he was only there for a missing credit and never spoken to him. “Harry, right?”

The guy’s lip curls. “Something like that.”

Diego lets his fingers oh-so-casually rest on the knife strapped to his leg. “What do you want?” All he needs is a few seconds, just a blink of distraction, and that will give him enough time to throw. He never misses, and that won’t be any different this time. He’s is pretty confident this guy doesn’t want to kill him anyway. Not when he so clearly knows a hell of a lot about the Academy, even if he claims he’s not a ‘fan.’

“My car’s parked outside,” says Harry. Unfortunately, crazy stalker fans are a dime a dozen at this point. Diego’s lost count on the number of them he’s come across since they went public as crime-fighters. “I’m going to lower my gun, and you’re going to get into the front and drive. I’ll be right behind you, so don’t even think about doing anything funny like trying to crash. I’ll blow your brains open against the window if you do.”

Okay, so he’s psychotic. Wonderful.

“Sure thing,” Diego says. “You want me to go first?” If he can get ahead of the guy, maybe make a dive for cover -

“Stay where you are!” Harry barks, coming closer. “I’ll go past you, and you just walk. Got it?”

“Got it.” Diego’s heart is racing now. Did Harry think of everything? How long had he been planning this? Has he gone after the others yet? Klaus is far more vulnerable than most of them, living on the street as he is. And Vanya, who’s powerless, is also ripe to take advantage of. Diego’s just glad Luther’s still holed up with Dad, and Allison is long-gone to California.

Harry edges past Diego, gun held still, and centered on his head. Diego watches him out of the corner of his eye, blood rushing loudly in his ears. He disappears out of this field of vision, but Diego's still distinctly aware of the presence right behind him. His skin prickles uneasily.

Snowflakes begin to drift from the sky, adding to the thick layer of snow already on the ground. It’s beautiful, even in the current situation.

Diego takes a single step as directed, but a harsh voice stops him in his tracks. So much for diving into cover behind the dumpster.

“Wait,” Harry orders. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Isn’t that just great? Diego wonders how long Harry’s been off his meds to be this indecisive and twitchy. Although, honestly, he doesn’t particularly want to find out. He’s tired and cranky and just wants to go to bed. Why did he think going out tonight was a good idea again? He needs to retire.

“What now?”

“I just want you to do one thing for me.”

Well, that’s not ominous at all. “One thing,” he repeats. “Harry, let’s -"

Diego hears the safety being flicked off. “My name is not _Harry._ ”

“I’m gonna turn around, alright?” he cautions, holding his hands up. “I’m gonna turn, and we can talk this over, yeah?”

“No, I don’t think so,” says Not-Harry mildly. “Anyway, just remember my name, got it? It’s going to be written in the history books, and surely even _you’ll_ hear about it.”

“Don’t do this,” Diego says. Maybe he’s begging at this point, but who’s there to judge him? He thinks about Five and Ben, both standing nearby, watching it all go down. It gives him some measure of comfort, at least, to know he’ll see them again soon. “Look, we can still just talk. You’re name’s not Harry, you’re right. I...I didn’t mean to forget. What is it?” He could’ve sworn it was Harry, but he could be wrong -

There’s a drawn-out silence.

“Harold Jenkins.”

_Bang._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:
> 
> \- nasty language  
> \- pretty graphic description of throats being cut and someone being disemboweled  
> \- major character death at the end


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs:
> 
> \- major character death  
> \- ghosts  
> \- big dumb sad boy  
> \- bad art lol

When Diego first opens his eyes, he’s disoriented.

His body aches, cold and uncomfortable, yet...not. It’s a confusing feeling. There’s a streetlight directly above him, bright white and flickering slightly, backed by the night sky dappled with stars. He flexes his sore hand at the tingly pins-and-needles sensation he’s come to identify with punching something - though usually some _body_ \- hard enough to bruise.

There’s a sharp, throbbing ache in his head as soon as he tries to move it, and Diego groans and reaches up a shaky hand to grab it. His fingers meet a sticky layer of something hidden underneath his head, and he jerks away. He’s done a number on himself, huh?

As snowflakes flurry around him, Diego sits up. He’s in the middle of nowhere, on some dark wooded street that’s overgrown and devoid of life. He can hear the distant sound of the city in the distance, though, so it shouldn’t be too long of a walk back to his dingy little motel room.

What the hell happened? He’s still wearing his vigilante gear and harness, complete with all his knives, and there’s no visible blood. So...that’s good.

He looks around, still sitting in the street like an idiot and, upon turning his head far enough, almost jumps out of his skin when he sees a guy stood not two feet behind him, hands on his hips. Diego clutches his pounding heart, feels the rush of blood in his ears from the adrenaline. “Shit,” he says. “You scared the crap out of me.”

The guy doesn’t turn around.

His car is parked behind Diego too, lights off and engine silent. Diego can’t imagine what the hell is going on. Did he get hit? If that was the case, it still didn’t explain why the fuck was he so far out from the city. Who was this guy?

“Hello?” he calls. “You okay?”

Diego stumbles to his feet. The guy’s staring down into the ditch by the side of the road. Diego wiggles his fingers in front of a bespeckled, unassuming face, but it remained pensive, and the guy gave no sign that he could see or hear him.

“This will do.” It’s a complete non sequitur, and Diego is finding himself at the end of his already-short patience.

“Look,” he starts, thumping a hand on the guy’s shoulder.

But...it doesn’t land. Instead, his hand - it - it goes _through_ the guy. Straight down into his chest, only to swing out and down at Diego’s side. He gapes.

“What the fuck?” He lifts his hand, stares at it, but it looks exactly like it usually does, wrapped in his fingerless gloves and with bitten-down nails. What the _hell_ is going on?

He waves his hand again, but once more, it goes straight through the man, who’s now turning and walking around his car. Diego stumbles after him like a lost puppy, his mind reeling. Is this a new power? Can he, what, astral project or - or something? Turn intangible, is that the right term for it?

The guy unlocks the trunk and opens it.

Diego screams. He might’ve felt ashamed about that at some other point, but now he’s too busy trying to get his brain to comprehend what he’s seeing. He falls back onto his ass on the snowy ground, lungs heaving. He _can’t_ have seen right. This - this _has_ to be some sort of trick. A cruel _prank_ or - or something. Anything but _this._

He crawls backward, his terrified eyes still fixed on the strange man as he reaches in and does something to the - to the -

Heart hammering in his chest, Diego leaps to his feet as quickly as he’d fallen. He _needs_ to make sure. He takes a step closer, just a quick shuffle, but it’s enough to see the...the _body_ in the trunk. It’s a man dressed in all black. He’s...it’s...

“This can’t be happening,” Diego gasps.

His face is pale against the dark trunk carpeting, odd compared to his natural tanned complexion. The back of his skull is sticky with dark blood that cakes his hair and is only visible when the light hits it _just_ perfectly. There are a few cuts and bruises on his face, probably from...from...

Diego’s eyes snap shut instinctively as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth. This can’t be happening.  He wants to scream, to throw up, to run away - anything but confront what was right in front of his eyes.  “No, no, n-nn _no_ , no...” He whispers, trembling hand reaching out to touch, only to recoil in horror when his hand passes right through his own pale face like touching the surface of still water. Diego stumbles back. “Oh, fu- oh god, no...fuck, no!”

That’s him. That’s...it’s him. He’s...he’s...

He’s _dead._

It all comes flooding back to him at that.

The motel, the missing sex worker, killing those guys in the strip club, bumping into a supposed fan, then - then said fan _shooting him in the back of the fucking head -_

“You fucking shot me,” he gasps, staring at the guy. At _Harold Jenkins._ The guy who - who _murdered_ him. 

Diego ducks his head. He isn’t scared because Number Two doesn’t _get_ scared. He - he’s _fearless._ But...but he’s alone now. He’s alone, and he’ll never see Dora again, never talk to his siblings, never stick it to Dad by becoming a successful cop, never - never -

He watches, mostly numb, as Jenkins drags his body out of the trunk. His own glazed eyes stare back at him, devoid of life. Jenkins has divulged Diego’s body of his knives, holster, and jacket, leaving only his black jeans and turtleneck, thick winter socks, and leather boots.

Diego stands on the sidelines as Jenkins drags his body over to the ditch and unceremoniously kicks it in. There’s a splash, and he lands face-down, nearly all of him entirely submerged. It’s a good dumping place; a sparsely-traveled backroad with no foot traffic at the beginning of winter. It’ll be at least a few months before there’s even a chance of it being spotted down there in the dark and murky water.

“So long, Number Two,” Jenkins, the bastard, salutes. He gets back into his car, tosses Diego’s knives onto the front seat carelessly. Diego works his jaw, then reaches out a cautious hand to touch the vehicle.

His hand goes right through.

Diego heaves a shaky sigh and steps through, finding himself in the back seat. It’s dark, and he feels sick being in the same confined space as this fucking rat bastard, but he wants to know where the fuck he thinks he’s going in such a hurry. Wasn’t killing Diego enough for one night? What, was he going to drive cross-country to shoot Allison too?

He sits in the backseat. Diego’s only been dead for, hm, an hour at most, so he’s got no idea how it works, but somehow his body is sitting. He can’t feel it, but he’s not falling through the back of the car and onto the ground outside, so it’s a half-win. Not a full one because, well, he’s fucking dead.

Jenkins flicks on the radio. A new song from this year comes on.

_“♪ They're worth so much more after I'm a goner ♪”_ croons the singer through the crackly signal. Jenkins laughs to himself like this is all one big joke. Diego thinks it’s ironic too, but there’s no way he’s yucking it up with his murderer, thanks. That’s a new level of crazy he doesn’t want to reach.

The car starts, the headlights illuminating the empty street. Jenkins pulls away from the ditch and drives off, just like that. Diego looks back, but he can’t see his body anymore. He doubts he’d even be able to find it at a later date.

_“♪ If I die young bury me in satin ♪”_ the singer goes on. She has a sweet voice, even if it is an awful song choice for this moment in time. _“♪ Lay me down on a bed of roses ♪”_

“Psycho,” Diego mutters as Jenkins hums along. Trees rush past the dark window. This whole setting is eerie as shit. Diego supposes that’s probably suited to the location of a body dump, and then he realizes how morbid that is, to think of the aesthetics of the place where his own dead body has been tossed like a piece of trash. Whatever. Who’s going to judge him for it? God?

* * *

Jenkins’ destination, it turns out, is the motel Diego's staying at.

_Was_ staying at.

They pull up down the street, and Jenkins gets out all casual-like, hands in his jacket pockets. Diego follows him at a more sedate pace. Snow crunches under Jenkins’ feet, but not Diego’s.

He doesn’t even feel the cold breeze that breaks across the parking lot when Jenkins pulls a key out of his pocket and unlocks the door to Diego’s room. Diego’s not actually sure if it’s the one from his body or the one Jenkins had gotten off the asshole front desk guy.

The room is just how Diego left it. His bag is on the bed, half-unpacked, and his coat is still on the floor. Jenkins doesn’t turn the light on, and he leaves the door ajar as he starts grabbing Diego’s stuff and putting it back away.

“Hey, hands off my stuff,” Diego snaps, watching him with clenched fists. “It’s bad enough you fucking - fucking m-m-m _murdered_ me, asswipe. You have to steal all my stuff too?” Plus, if he takes it all, how will the police identify him if they find his body and make the connection?

Jenkins pauses, holding Diego’s wallet thoughtfully. He opens it, takes out his ID. The one that says _‘Number Two Hargreeves’_ next to a photo of Diego’s glowering baby face, age eighteen - back when he couldn’t grow facial hair or legally drink. 

“Nice,” Jenkins says. He pockets it, then puts the wallet back in Diego’s bag, which he zips up and then places neatly in the middle of the bed. He fishes a scrap of paper from his jacket and leans on the dresser to write.

Diego wanders around the room, inspecting the peeling floral wallpaper and the stained formerly-cream carpet. He can’t hear the people having sex next door anymore, so he reaches out a hand to touch the wall. It goes straight through, presumably to the room beside this one. He considers this for a second, then sticks his head in as well.

His neighbor’s room is identical to his own besides the addition of a small couch with suspicious stains on it. There’s an overweight man in his forties smoking a cigar and watching the TV. He’s naked and _sweaty._ Diego grimaces and is about to pull away when he notices what’s on. It’s the news, and there’s a familiar face center-screen.

_‘ALLISON HARGREEVES ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT’_ announces the scroll bar.

His sister, dressed up fancy and with blonde-streaked hair, waves at the camera. She’s holding hands with some guy Diego’s never seen before in his life. Her fiancé.

He steps fully into the room, walks closer.

The screen cuts to Allison on some kind of talk-show, laughing and smiling with the presenter. Then he’s blindsided with that famous shot of the six of them standing on the steps of the bank, so small and fragile now that he knows better. Diego digs his hands into his pockets, uneasy.  He never really thought about his siblings’ lives in much detail. Five is dead, Ben is dead, Luther is still at the Academy, Vanya’s off doing who-knew-what, Klaus is a homeless addict, and Allison’s a movie star out in California.  Previously, he would’ve put himself in the category of ‘successful’ like Allison, but now he supposes he fits in better with Ben and Five. Dead and done for.  And...what? Allison’s engaged now? Living it up with her soon-to-be husband while Diego’s body lies cooling in some watery ditch? It’s...so fucking _unfair._

“Stupid Allison.” He stares mutinously at the TV, envy thick in his gut. He’s always worked the hardest yet found himself in second-best every time, none of his hard work paying off. First with Luther, then with college and now _this?_ He works hard, and he _runs away, and he gets into an excellent fucking school to learn a language and get onto the police force and - and - and -_

Diego lashes out at the dresser with a furious scream, but his fist goes right through it. Even more enraged, he fists his hair. It’s still sticky with what he now knows is blood. Blood from the fucking _bullet hole_ in his fucking _skull._

Dad would get a fucking kick out of this, wouldn’t he? Stupid Number Two, thinking he can escape the shadow of the Umbrella Academy. None of them can leave, not really. They’re either dead or haunted by the memories. He’s such an idiot for thinking he could ever be normal like Dora or his other college classmates. His ID says Number Two and not Diego for a reason, after all.

The naked guy changes the channel, hacking up some phlegm in the process.  Diego gags and stumbles back through the wall to his own room, where he’s dismayed to realize that Jenkins has left while he had his mini-breakdown. Fuck. How’s he supposed to keep an eye on him now? What if he goes after Klaus or Vanya next?

His bag is still on the bed. Diego goes over to look at it. Why would Jenkins risk coming back here just to pack Diego’s bag? He can’t have wanted his ID that bad or he would’ve taken it when he broke in earlier.

Then he sees the napkin.

It’s the one he signed in the alley. Right before Jenkins blew his fucking brains out across the snow. At the bottom, it says ‘Diego Hargreeves’, just like he remembers. However, what he _doesn’t_ fucking remember is the short paragraph written above that.

_“If you’re reading this, know that I’m okay. I just can’t do this anyone, and I need to start things over. I’m going to hop on a train and leave the city. Don’t bother trying to find me, but maybe we’ll meet again one day. Thanks for everything.”_

Then his stupid signature.

The writing looks similar enough to his handwriting that he searches his brain for having written it. But...he didn’t.

It takes a second, but Diego finally remembers that Jenkins had been writing on this just now, right before he left. What was the fucking point of that?

The door handle turns, and Diego jumps.

“Forgot something, asshole?” he asks, but it’s not Jenkins. _“Dora?”_

It’s her, alright. As beautiful as ever, dark hair pulled back and chocolate-colored eyes underlined by deep bags. She’s wearing her pajamas under a heavy winter coat and her beat-up blue running shoes.

“Diego?” she calls hesitantly. “Hey, idiot, you in here?”

“Dora!” he cries, scrambling over, but his hand goes straight through her face, and Diego stumbles back, horrified. How could he...he’d forgotten. For that brief second, he’d expected to touch her skin, feel the familiar texture of the acne scars she’s still insecure about, the bristle of her hair against his fingers. But...he’s never going to do that again, is he? He’s never going to touch her, hold her, feel her hands on his skin... _Tell her how he feels..._

“...Diego?” Dora’s voice trails off as she spots his stuff on the bed. She steps over to it, head tilted inquisitively. “What the hell?”

Diego now knows very well why Jenkins wrote that note. He’s half-impressed, half-devastated. “Dora, please,” he says. “Eudora, _please,_ don’t believe it...”

But, of course, she does. It’s believable, and he signed it _Diego Hargreeves_ and not Number Two. Diego will take that at face value and, given how they’d last spoken, he can’t blame her for thinking it might be true. It does sound like him to skip town and start a new life. He did it when he ran away from the Academy, didn’t he? Dora knows that too.

Her hand raises, slowly, to cover her mouth. She’s shaking.

“No,” she whispers, sitting down slowly on the bed like she’s dizzy. Diego bows his head, feels hot tears slip down his cheeks as his muscles give out. He kneels at her feet like he’s in prayer at the altar of her loveliness. “Oh, Diego, no...”

Diego sits, lost, and watches her cry. Maybe it’s minutes, perhaps it’s hours, but either way, it’s agony. She reads and re-reads the fraudulent note several times, sniffling and trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry I’ve left you, Dora.” He doesn’t say ' _I would do anything for you'_ because the words mean nothing now, just an empty promise from a dead man.

Dora presses the napkin to her lips, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“You idiot,” she whispers, voice choked. “You big, stupid _idiot,_ Diego Hargreeves.”

“Hey,’ he protests weakly. “Don’t insult the dead.”

She glances at his stuff, shakes her head. After a few moments, she stands and wipes her tears away. Looks at the napkin one last time and then places it carefully in her pocket. Diego doesn’t need to be psychic to know she’ll keep it safe.

Dora picks up his bag. Jenkins had taken Diego’s coat, so that’s all that’s left of his belongings for her to take. She takes a long look around the room, opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, then thinks better of it and leaves.

The door clicks shut behind her and Diego’s left, alone, in the dark.

* * *

Diego quickly finds out that the days pass by irregularly. Minutes feel like hours, yet weeks pass by in a blink. It must be the boredom getting to him because he’s mapped out the entire motel from top to bottom now about six hundred times and could name off how many cracks were in the ceilings of each and every room.

He’s not sure, exactly, why he’s still hanging around the motel. It’s not as if he’s attached to the building like ghosts sometimes are in those cheesy TV movies he’s seen snippets of. He didn’t die here, didn’t live here, felt no attachment to this place at all. Diego supposes the term for what he’s doing would be ‘haunting’, but it doesn’t feel like that. He’s not making picture frames fly off the walls or levitating objects or messing with the lights. He spies on the guests going about their lives, reads the magazines over the shoulder of Larry, the front desk guy, and even catches a whole episode of something good on TV if he’s lucky.

Still, it’s getting to the point where he knows he has to go outside. Christmas has come and gone now, which he knows because the motel shut for the day, and so has New Years'. There were fireworks he’d watched out the window, big colorful explosions that lit up the night sky. Diego had felt sick at the sight of them, remembering how he and his siblings would sneak up onto the roof to watch the displays when they were kids.

He goes back to his old room before he leaves. 116 - where he’d last seen Dora and where he’d thought about going to sleep, not knowing he would ever sleep again. It’s weird standing in it. There’s been another guest since Dora came by and took his stuff - a middle-aged man who’d spent most of his stay doing paperwork. Diego had watched him write, but eventually given up when he realized he’d never understand why the hell the epithelial-mesenchymal transition of tumors was considered to be a significant event. Science has never been his language of choice, that was for sure.

Diego stands out in the parking lot of the motel. He looks up at the neon ‘MOTEL 24/7’ sign that’s become so familiar to him after all this time and feels a sharp tug of grief. What an idiot he’s been, getting kicked out of college so close to graduation. If he’d just kept a better control over his temper, just listened to Eudora and not gone to the frat party that night, then he’d have never been expelled and never been at that club to bump into Harold Fucking Jenkins. He’d still be alive and ungrateful for it.

“Good riddance, motel!” he calls to the building as he steps out onto the sidewalk and begins to walk. There are a few people about, mostly teens skating and drinking beer, so Diego has no trouble making sure he doesn’t get walked through. It’s only happened a few times in the motel, but he knows he hates it.

He’s not sure he’s supposed to do now. Should he go back to the Academy? Drop-in on his siblings to see - _his siblings._

How could he have forgotten about _Klaus?_ If he can find his brother and wait long enough for him to sober up, Diego can make contact! Explain what happened, make sure his body gets noticed, and that Harold Jenkins is held accountable for what he did.

He stops on the corner of the block, hands on his hips. Okay. Where the hell does he find his brother?

“If I were Klaus,” he murmurs. “Where would I go?”

Rehab, probably, but that was Diego’s logical mind coming into play.

Klaus would find the seediest part of town with the most amount of clubs to score in. He likes cheap, and he likes fun, so it...it looks like Diego’s going right back to where he’d died, which is the cesspool of the city for illegal activity. That’s definitely not an appealing idea.

But, if he finds Klaus, he may be able to see Ben. And Five. _Potentially._

“Decisions, decisions,” he says. He’s been talking to himself a lot more lately, but there’s no one around to judge him for it, is there? No one besides...

Besides that girl.

She’s sat on the edge of the sidewalk, head hanging over her bent knees. There’s blood on her sneakers and in her long blonde hair, and she can’t be any older than sixteen or seventeen. She’s also very clearly dead.

Another ghost. Holy shit. Diego stares some more. He hasn’t seen another ghost in the whole time he’s been one, and he’d half-convinced himself that was because he was the only one. But here, right in front of him, is the undeniable proof that that’s not the case.

“Hey,” he calls. “Hey, kid!” He crosses the street and stops right in front of her. “Are you...okay?” Why the hell did he ask that? Of course, she’s not okay! She’s _dead!_ He reaches out, cautiously, and his fingers skim her shoulder.

The girl’s head snaps up, and she stares at him with unblinking brown eyes. The blood is more apparent now, dripping from her mouth and her horrifically broken nose. She coughs and gurgles on the thick red liquid as more and more pours out from between her lips.

“Holy shit!” Diego stumbles backward, falls on his ass in his attempt to get the _hell_ away from her.

Eyes still laser-focused on him, the girl stumbles to her feet and lumbers closer. She’s trying to say something, but all Diego can see is the crazed expression behind all the blood. She looks poised to eat him or something, and Diego wouldn’t put it past this nightmare to pull some shit like that! As she gets closer, he can finally make out the single word she’s repeating over and over.

_“Help!”_

“Get the hell away from m-mm _me!”_ he yells, kicking out at her. She moves back, just a little, and Diego takes that as his cue to get the fuck out of here. He jumps to his feet and sprints down the street, not caring where he’s going so long as it’s far, _far_ away from that psycho bitch.

He runs for as long as he can stand, which is pretty far given that he doesn’t have lungs anymore, and stops near some bushes, hands on his knees and panting from the fear and not the exercise. _Holy shit._ What the hell had been wrong with that chick? Was she that crazy when she was alive too?

“Are all ghosts like that?” he asks himself, because...damn. How is he still so normal-minded? Is it a time thing? Is he eventually going to turn crazy and start attacking any ghost that comes near him too? If that's the case, then h e has to find Klaus _fast_ because the idea of his clock ticking down like that girl’s is nauseating. then Diego needs answers, and he needs them now.

* * *

**January 23rd** **, 2012**

Two weeks later, Diego has yet to find his brother. It’s harder than he thought to find a homeless addict, especially when he can’t interrogate people for answers or ask if they even know who Klaus is.

He’s glad to be out of the motel and back in the real world, but Diego can’t really find it within himself to enjoy said real world given that he’s unsure whether he’s ‘living’ on borrowed time or not.

The world has been turning in his absence, though. It’s moved on without him, and nobody has any idea he’s even gone. Dora, the only person who’d even notice, had thought bad enough of Diego to believe he’d just skip town without saying goodbye face-to-face. His siblings, as enraptured with their own lives as they are, probably won’t ever find out. They just think he left and never came back.

Just like Five.

Diego slaps his cheek. “Get ahold of yourself.” Now is not the time to be thinking about Five. In fact, he’d prefer to never think about that particular brother again because it brings up all sorts of new emotions he should likely be discussing with a therapist.

Besides, there’s no use wallowing. He’s already dead, and he can’t get any deader, can he?

If he wasn’t looking for Klaus, he’s not sure what he’d be doing. What do other ghosts do? Haunt people? Wander around, screaming for eternity? That lady had seemed perfectly contented doing precisely that, so maybe that really is what the big deal is. It sounds boring to Diego, but what does he know?

He’s a newbie dead guy and not experienced like...like the big mobster guy stumbling down the sidewalk opposite him.

Diego stares, half-shocked half-amused, as the mobster, bowler hat and all, goes straight through a lady with a pram. She shivers but makes no other indication that a dead guy’s just walked through her. Diego, filled with morbid curiosity, wants to get closer, but he’s not stupid. He’s not going to risk it with how badly it’d gone with the car-crash lady.

He watches until the mobster has disappeared from sight. Then, now even more lost, Diego sets off down the sidewalk. He wanders around, trying not to actually go through people if he can help it, and sightsees a little. It’s pretty dull but better than lurking around a rat-infested motel at any rate.

There’s a cute café that Diego sits in for a while. It’s Parisian, with large displays of pastries and every kind of coffee imaginable listed out above the counter. He knows he doesn’t get hungry as a ghost, but his brain still thinks he does. The craving gets so bad he eventually has to leave, lest he go crazy like the half-decapitated ghost he’d seen drifting past at one point. 

Even with the people-watching opportunities, the boredom does still get to him. Diego considers going back to the Academy for a brief moment, but ultimately that seems like a pretty back idea. Who’s to say he won’t run into Ben or Five and...and they might be just as batshit as all the other ghosts he’s come across so far. He knows he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing his brothers like that. Plus, hen he runs the risk of seeing _Dad,_ and that’s an awful idea. Diego doesn’t think he could stand seeing his old man do normal human things when he thought nobody was watching.

Later, Diego finds a nice bench to sit on. It faces a flower shop that he likes to imagine smells amazing, and there’s a cute little dog tied up outside. Diego’s always wanted a dog, especially as a kid, but there was no way Dad would have let that happen. Not in a million years.

_“ - beautiful!”_

Wait. That sounds an awful lot like -

“Wunderbar! What say you let me try this one on, hm? Just take a little walk around the block, okay? A girl’s gotta have some privacy, after all, and I want to surprise you with my stellar fashion choices!”

Diego stands up, walks straight through the bench. His heart is racing. What’s he going to say? Should he just come out with it? Surely Klaus will know as soon as he sees him. His head’s probably a huge mess at the back.

There’s an alley next to a department store, darkened in the setting sun, and that’s where his brother’s voice is coming from. Diego steps into the dark.

Klaus is wearing a skimpy dress, bent halfway inside a dumpster, and pulling out trash bags to throw them down onto the ground. He’s chattering away to himself like he has nowhere better to be.

Diego clears his throat, feeling his gut churn. “Klaus?”

Klaus screams, jumps and bangs his head on the lid of the dumpster. He falls inside, all flailing limbs and _way_ too much thigh for Diego’s poor eyeballs.

After a brief pause, a pair of eyes peer over the edge. They bug out as soon as they see him. _“Diego?”_ Klaus gapes. “Is that really you?”

“It’s me,” he says, voice cracking embarrassingly. How are you supposed to tell your brother that you’re dead? “I know it’s not a great way for you to find out, but -"

“Let me stop you there,” Klaus says. “Diego, there’s literally nothing you could do at this point to surprise me. Besides, I see you doing..." He gestured encompassingly at Diego's whole self, _"this_ to yourself and raise you ‘man climbing gracefully out of a dumpster’!” Klaus stands up, dusts himself off, and proceeds to climb extremely _un_ gracefully out of said dumpster.

Diego had been preparing himself for the worst. For crying, denial, questions he doesn’t want to answer just yet.

He’d also been pretty worried Klaus would be too high to actually see him, but apparently, that’s not the case. But his brother is...unfazed? Unsurprised? And what did he mean by ‘did this to himself’? Does he think Diego, what - _committed suicide?_ That he _blew his own brains out?_

“You think _I_ did this?” he asks, pissed. A red mist descends over his eyes. “That I wanted to be like _this_ forever?“

Klaus sticks his bottom lip out, looking contrite. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, Diego. I’m just surprised you went out of your comfort zone, given your whole...bad boy schtick, or whatever you call it. But it's really working for you, I must say."

“Fuck off, Klaus.”

His brother holds his hands up defensively. “Hey, if it sets our dear father off, then I’m all for it! Seriously!"

Diego hesitates at that. He _does_ enjoy annoying Dad...

“Really?” he challenges. “But what about you, though? You’re hardly doing much better. Being out on the streets like this isn’t safe, Klaus.” And Diego would know, given that’s he’s currently...well, dead. “Just look at me.”

_Ask about it, ask what happened, who did this, pretend you care, please -_

“Oh, I am. I know exactly what happened here.” Klaus says, waving a hand to emphasize all Diego’s ghostliness. “But I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?” He rips open one of the trash bags and pulls out a rumpled fur coat. It looks ancient, but he still pulls it on over his dress and does a slow twirl. “Anyway, how have _you_ been, Diego?” His voice, so soft and sweet, makes Diego frown.

He looks down at himself. His outfit, which he’d swiftly realized is what he’s cursed to wear for eternity, is okay. He’s grown to enjoy it, but he does feel a tad like a cartoon character. There’s blood from his head injury that sometimes drips down his neck and into the collar of his shirt, so that’s not great.

How _does_ he feel, though, besides that? “Bored.”

_“Bored?”_ Klaus repeats. “How on earth can you be _bored_ in a city such as this? So much to _do_ and so much to _see_ \- oh, aren’t you still in school?”

Diego stares at him. Is Klaus _mocking_ him? “Klaus, I can’t exactly graduate like _this,_ can I?” He gestures at himself. They don’t give diplomas to ghosts, right? Unless there’s, like, a ghost college.

Klaus eyes him speculatively. “I suppose not,” he says. “Though I do have to come out and say it, all this S&M stuff is growing on me! I really do think Dad will hate it.”

Well, at least that’s something.

“Yeah,” he replies, remembering exactly why he wanted to find his brother. “I need to ask you about that.”

“About S&M?”

“No, idiot, about Dad! Or, well, mostly about, you know...ghost shit.”

“Oh,” Klaus titters nervously. “That. _Right._ I...don't really deal in that department much anymore, D. There’s not anything I can tell you that you don’t already know -"

“‘Not much you can tell me’? What the hell am I supposed to get from that?!"

“I'm sure you’ll figure out whatever it us."

“But you’re my brother,” Diego says incredulously. He feels like an idiot for asking, for coming crawling on his knees to beg for help. “And it’s _your_ damn power, Klaus!”

Klaus cowers a little, looking like he wants to run the hell away. Diego’s too pissed to care at this point. “Diego -"

“I - I track you down, and here you are, basically wasting your life digging through trash and you - you won’t tell me _anything?_ What point are you if you can’t even help me out? Your own damn brother?"

“Yeah, well, I guess I’m useless,” Klaus spits back. “Why don’t you just leave me alone, huh? I don’t want to help you with - with ‘ghost shit’ or anything, alright? Just...leave me alone, Diego.”

Diego shakes his head. He’s angry, and he’s embarrassed, but mostly he’s fucking hurt. Stupid Klaus and stupid Diego for even thinking his siblings would help him out.

“Goodbye, Klaus,” he says, and it feels like a forever kind of thing. Like, ‘goodbye forever, eternity here I come’.

“Wait!” Klaus reaches for him, but Diego jerks away.

He can handle strangers going through him, but not his _brother._ Not - not like this. Not when he’s so angry and - and _whatever_ he’s feeling. He’d thought, given how torn-up Klaus had been about Ben’s death, that there’d be some emotion here, a pang of deep sadness or grief, upon realizing that Diego was gone too. Klaus’ powers are hard to explain, but Diego has been relying on them to get some answers, to keep sane. He’d know that, if he were able to find his brother, he’d have at least one person to talk to. He’d even fantasized, deep-down, that maybe Klaus would be able to help him contact Ben.

...But now he realizes how wrong he was. Diego is not the same as _Ben_ to his siblings. The idea is, in retrospect, laughable. Klaus is in no way obligated to spare Diego’s feelings, to act like he - like he cares. Diego is an idiot for thinking otherwise.

“What is it, Klaus?” he asks, voice subdued. He wants to run away and drown in his shame.

“...Visit me some time, will you? My regular block is down by the river, and I can’t promise I’ll always be there but -"

“I’ll think about it.” He turns away, keeps his head high, and jaw clenched hard enough that, if he were alive, it would ache.

Klaus goes back to his rummaging, humming under his breath. Diego, on the other hand, walks through the nearest building to the back storeroom and sits on the floor. He takes deep breaths and absolutely does not cry.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diego is such a himbo! And poor Klaus, having no idea what they're actually talking about...or that Diego's dead...or that he's a genderqueer icon...
> 
> Also, that fanart at the end was done by me :) I'm just a beginner, so please don't say anything mean! That's what our angsty boy is wearing for eternity now because I wanted you guys to have a reference, though. Doesn't he look suitably edgy?
> 
> Also, thank you for all your lovely comments! I'm planning to have the next chapter out tomorrow, so stay tuned for that! (a certain ghostly brother may be making an appearance, and it's not Diego...)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll with these chapters! This one contains a time skip. I was originally planning to go over more of the time that Diego spends as a ghost by himself, but it was reading as clunky and boring. He didn't do much except sulk and that's not exciting to read about, is it? This chapter moves onto canon (already!) and we start to already see the things that are changing because Diego isn't there.

* * *

**March 24** **th** **, 2019**

**(SEVEN YEARS LATER)**

The Academy is a time capsule of their childhood, and Diego has grown tired of seeing the same wood paneling, the same metal chandeliers, the same outdated decor for the past however many years. Now that Dad’s dead, he thinks they should gut the place and turn it into something that would genuinely make the old man roll in his grave. Like a playground or an ice cream parlor.

Oh yeah, Dad died.

Diego’s not exactly torn-up about it. He’d been scared at first that Dad would come back as a ghost, start following him around for all eternity squawking ‘Number Two this’ and ‘Number Two that’, but there’s no sign of their nut job of a father in the time it takes for the others to show up. Diego writes him off as one of the people who pass on instead of hanging around. Hopefully, he’s deep down beneath Diego’s feet, roasting in a pot with Hitler or something.

He’s done a lot of soul-searching in the, oh, eight years he’s been a ghost. Before 2015, he’d mostly wandered around the city without direction - seeing Klaus but never talking to him, sometimes stopping by to visit Dora at the precinct she works at....boring stuff. After 2018 _,_ he’d stayed at the house, keeping an eye on Mom and making sure she was okay.

In fact, Diego’s been hunting for her all morning. Usually, she’d be doing laundry or dusting their long-empty rooms right about now, but Diego has seen hide nor hair of her. He’s just starting to worry when a very familiar voice comes from below.

“Mom?”

He leans over the balcony, curious, to see  Vanya standing in the entryway. Diego’s hit with a familiar wave of resentment at the sight of her. It’s been four years, and he’s still not over the _book._ Actually, he won’t _ever_ be over that stupid book. She’s a traitor and doesn’t deserve to be here, not after what she’s done. Diego supposes she's showed up because of Dad, but it's not good enough. So what if the old man kicked it? Wasn't like he ever liked any of them enough.

She looks over at Mom, who’s lost in thought by the fire.

“There you are,” Diego mutters. Mom’s been pretty spacey since Dad died, not doing her usual chores, not smiling. Just...wandering around, lost in thought. He's been worried.

“Mom?” Vanya calls hesitantly. “Mom!”

“Quit bugging her,” he snaps, though, of course, she can’t hear him. He trots down the stairs, glaring daggers into the side of her head. It’s one thing for Vanya to turn up for Dad’s funeral, but it’s another for her to bother their mom about it. Can't she see that Mom’s been through enough?

“Vanya?” Allison comes gliding down the stairs. Since when did she show up?  Diego inspects her face. She’s aged since he last saw her in person, of course, but she looks as put-together as he remembers. Blue doesn't really fit for a funeral, but whatever. It’s not like any of them, besides Luther, will actually mourn the old man.

The two sisters hug, and it’s awkward at best. Vanya looks suitably miserable, but she always looks like that, so he’s not surprised. Still, to see Allison accept her back into the fold with open arms irritates him like no other. Where was this generosity the rest of their childhood?

“I can’t believe you’re just forgiving her.” After _betraying_ them all, spilling the family secrets...and what she said about _Ben_ \- Diego is just glad she’d had no clue about him kicking the bucket too. That would’ve probably earned itself a whole other tragic chapter about _poor_ _little_ Vanya and her two dead brothers.

“I wasn’t even sure if I should come,” Vanya says softly.  She makes as if to leave, and Diego laughs.

“Good. You don’t _belong_ here. Not after what you did.”

Allison touches her arm. “Don’t go,” she says firmly. “I’m glad you’re here.” Diego can tell she means it, and he’s not surprised. Allison does so love to play the martyr when it suits her. Seems none of them have really changed after all...

“Ugh,” he groans. “I can’t watch this anymore.”

He heads back upstairs and finds Luther in Dad’s room. He’s rifling through the bedsheets with a thoughtful frown. Diego had conducted the exact same search when he’d found the old man gray and stiff, so he can’t exactly blame him. But there's nothing to be found. The old man really did die like everyone else. Not so invincible now, huh, Reginald?

Luther is one paranoid bastard, a nd fucking huge now. “Jesus,” Diego says. “What, did you eat the whole fucking moon while you were up there?” Luther continues to inspect the windows as Diego laughs at his own joke. “I’d tell you nobody broke in, but I think it’d just go in one ear and out the other, wouldn’t it?”

“Something’s off,” Luther says to himself, surveying the room.

“No, but seriously, what’s your secret?” Diego continues. “Protein shakes? Low carb diet?” He hasn’t seen Luther in-person since Ben’s funeral. When he’d come back to the Academy last year, his brother had already been three years into his moon mission. He looks monstrous now, crammed into that ill-fitting bulky coat.

Luther addresses the ghost of Dad, but it’s too bad for him that Diego’s the only dead guy in here. “Who did this to you?” 

Diego sighs. He sits in the armchair by the bed, lifts his feet out of the way as Luther gets down on his hands and knees to peer under the bed. He clearly doesn’t find what he’s looking for, though, because there’s a heavy sigh as he lumbers back to his feet.

“Luther,” he says eventually. “Just let it go. There’s no mystery here. Nothing to avenge, nothing to solve. Nothing like that.” He tilts his head back, and it goes straight through the chair. “He was just a sad old man who kicked it in a big empty house. Just like he deserved.”

“Damn it,” Luther mutters. He stomps out of the room, leaving Diego all alone. Unfortunately, after eight years, Diego is unbothered by that particular aspect of being dead. He’s very familiar with the sound of his own voice.

“See you later!” Diego bites his lip mockingly. _“Brother.”_

* * *

Diego spends a while watching some pigeons going at it out the window, but eventually finds himself at the balcony that looks down into the sitting room. He knows the house like the back of his hand now, but he’s still surprised to see it actually full of people and not just Mom and Pogo.

“A family meeting? And I wasn’t invited?”

Vanya’s on the couch, Luther's on the _other_ couch, Allison’s lounging on an armoire drinking whiskey, and Klaus is over at dad’s bar. The atmosphere so painfully dry and awkward that he wants to laugh. Instead, Diego hops up onto the railing ledge to watch it all play out. He's gotten pretty good at spectator sports since he died.

“I figure we could have a sort of memorial service,” Luther’s saying. “In the courtyard at sundown. Say a few words, just in Dad’s favorite spot.”

Allison frowns. “Dad had a favorite spot?”

“Yeah, you know, under the oak tree?” Luther explains. He looks around at the others, clearly wrong-footed. “We used to sit out there all the time. None of you ever...did that?”

Oh, _of course,_ how could they have forgotten all the _beautiful_ memories they have of spending time with their _beloved_ father?

Damn, Diego wishes he were alive so he could insult Luther properly. It’s infuriating seeing him go unchecked like this. Allison hates to disagree with the big guy, and Klaus and Vanya rarely speak up even when they want to. The job of devil’s advocate for their _fearless leader_ had always fallen to Diego and Five, but now....now he guesses there’s no one to do it.

Klaus breaks the tension. A huge glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he saunters over to sit beside Vanya. “Will there be refreshments? Teas? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner.” He looks as Diego remembers him, if a little thinner. Has Ben not been keeping on him to eat? Where _is_ Ben? Shouldn’t he want to be here for the funeral too?

“No,” Luther says, disapproving. “Put that out! You know Dad didn’t allow smoking in the -"

“Is that my _skirt?”_

Vanya looks between Klaus and Allison with resignation. 

“What? Oh yeah, this! I found it in your room. It’s a little dated, I know, but it’s very breathy on the...” Klaus waves a hand at himself. _“Bits.”_

Luther grimaces. “Listen up! There are still some important things we need to discuss, alright?”

Allison sighs long-sufferingly. “Like what, Luther?”

“Like the way Dad died.”

Diego snorts. “And _here we go.”_

“I don’t understand,” Vanya says, shaking her head. “I thought he died of a heart attack?”.

“Yeah, according to the coroner.”

“Well, wouldn’t they know?”

“Theoretically.” His disbelief about _that_ is palpable. Good ol' Luther.

Allison hears the badly-hidden skepticism too. _“Theoretically?_ ”

Luther looks at her; his usual ‘don’t be upset with me, Allison’ expression out in full-force. “I’m just saying, at the very least, something happened. The last time that I talked to Dad, he sounded strange.”

The last time Diego had heard the old man speak, he’d sounded as crazy as he usually did.

Klaus gargles his drink. “Oh, quelle surprise!”

Allison shoots him a dirty look, but that’s nothing new. “Strange...how?”

“He sounded on edge. Told me I should be careful who to trust.”

“For god’s sake,” Diego mutters. “He was just a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what was left of his marbles. What’s there to miss?”

“And you think that means...what?” Allison asks. “That somebody killed him?”

“He must’ve known something was going to happen.” Luther turns to Klaus. “Look, I know you don’t like to do it - "

“This should be good,” Diego says.

“- but I need you to talk to Dad.”

Scoffing, Allison rolls her eyes. Klaus looks put-upon, as over-dramatic as always. “I can’t just call Dad in the afterlife and be like, ‘Dad, could you just stop playing Hitler for a moment and take a quick call?’”

Luther’s starting to get frustrated now, Diego can tell. He knows this big idiot better than even Allison, precisely what pushed his buttons and how to piss him off to the extreme. “Since when? That’s your _thing.”_

“I’m not in the right...frame of mind.”

“You’re high?” Allison asks.

Klaus laughs and points at her. “Yeah! Yeah! How are you not, listening to this nonsense?”

“Well, sober up, this is important,” Luther demands, ever the sensitive soul. Does he just not understand how Klaus works? Asking him to sober up is like asking Diego to stop being dead; it's a complete waste of time and energy. “It’s bad enough we have to have the funeral with only four of us -"

“What, did you expect little Number Five to just come waltzing through the door in a mourning veil?” goads Klaus, throwing back his drink. “Or Ben -"

“Don’t talk about Ben,” Luther barks. “I _meant_ without _Diego.”_

Diego laughs. “Oh, this should be good.” What stupid idea has Luther come up with now? Is Diego secretly Dad in disguise? Is he working for an evil organization bent on taking over the world? He’s eager to find out what convoluted scheme his big dumb brother has imagined him into.

Allison looks around as if she’s only just now noticed his absence. Diego tries not to be offended by that. He hasn’t exactly had consistent contact with any of them since they were seventeen, after all. “Where _is_ Diego, for that matter? I thought he was just sulking in his room.”

“Hey, I’m here, aren’t I? It's not my fault you can’t see me.” He doesn’t mean it, though. Because it _is_ his own damn fault; for going out that night, for trying to play the hero, for letting Jenkins lull him into a false sense of security, for being so arrogant. The list goes on, but the sentiment remains - he’s got no one to blame for this but himself. And Jenkins, but that's a no-brainer.

“Pogo says he’s not here. Hasn’t come back once since...since he left.”

“What’s with that face?” Allison asks suspiciously. Luther _does_ have a strange expression. Like he’s thinking very hard or having an aneurysm. “No, Luther, you’re not really suggesting -"

He cuts her off. “Dad’s monocle was missing.”

“Or you just couldn’t find it,” Diego points out, swinging his feet through the railing. From this higher vantage point, he can’t see Luther’s face too well, but he imagines it’s the one he usually wears when he’s trying to use that tiny brain of his to solve an impossible riddle. Or a Suduko.

He’d looked for Dad’s monocle himself, but it had been nowhere. Only an hour at most had passed between Dad dying and Diego finding the body, so there was little chance somebody had conveniently broken in during that time and stolen it, so was probably just a coincidence. Maybe he's sent it off to be repaired.

“Who cares about some dumb monocle?” Klaus scoffs.

“Exactly. It’s worthless. So, whoever took it, I think it was personal. Someone close to him, someone with a grudge.”

Diego facepalms. He now knows _precisely_ what Luther’s getting at. “You idiot.”

“Where are you going with this?”

Allison glances at Klaus. “Isn’t it obvious, Klaus? He thinks _Diego_ killed Dad.”

There a pause.

_“You do?”_ Klaus gasps when Luther doesn’t deny it.

“You do?” Why the hell would _he_ kill Dad? And if that was true, why would he be stupid enough to both not show up to the funeral and steal Dad's monocle? That’s, like, the very _definition_ of suspicious. He’s not surprised Luther thinks he’s that obvious, though. Number One always seeing the best in people.

“How could you think that?” Vanya looks genuinely hurt, like Luther’s words were directed at her and not Diego. But Diego thinks that’s a bit rich, given that she’s blabbed their family secrets in a tell-all book that millions have read. “Diego would never do something like that!”

Luther’s fists clench. “Well, then where is he?” His voice is loud and tense, thinly-veined fury hidden behind his words.

“Luther!” Allison snaps. There’s a momentary silence.

“I - you’re right. That’s...not what I was saying -"

Klaus stands, points at their brother. “You’re crazy, man! You’re crazy.” He picks up another glass from the bar and heads for the door. Diego thinks about following him but decides against it. He’s not sure when a good time to tell his brother that he’s dead and not alive is, but it’s probably not right before their father’s funeral.

“I’ve not finished -"

“Sorry, I’m just gonna go murder Mom! Be right back!”

Vanya follows him and good riddance to her. Even if she did defend him to Luther.

“That’s not what I was saying! I didn’t -"

Allison slaps her knees, stands, and looks Number One squarely in the eye. “He’s our brother, Luther,” she says. “Be careful what you say.” Then she walks out without another word. Diego tilts his head in consideration. Allison, sticking up for him? Against Luther? He never thought he’d see the day.

“Allison - I - jeez.” Luther sighs to himself in the quiet of the sitting room. The clock above the mantle chimes. “...That went well.”

* * *

Diego’s been relaxing on the couch, still in the sitting room where Luther left him, not doing much of anything. It’s not like he has his knives to play with, or a book to read. He’s been relying on his own thoughts for eight years, and he’s gotten pretty good at it.

Then the music starts.

It’s a Luther song. He loves to bring out his record collection when there’s been an argument. Did it even when they were kids, mostly to apologize for being too authoritative on a mission, or for hitting too hard during a practice spar.

_“♪ I think we’re alone now ♪”_ Tiffany croons as the bass thumps through the house. Diego looks over and, sure enough, Vanya’s out in the entryway doing an awkward little shuffle she probably considers dancing.  He climbs to his feet.

_“♪ There doesn’t seem to be anyone around ♪”_

Diego can imagine them all squirreled away from one another, dancing together, yet still completely alone. It’s the perfect analogy for their messed-up family. His feet start to move without his permission.

As the chorus rises, he finds himself breaking out moves he hasn’t done since his college party days. The pop and lock, the shimmy, the fishing rod - that one always got people laughing. It’s pretty exhilarating, knowing he’s dancing in the middle of his childhood sitting room, and no one’s going to say a word about it. They can’t see him making a fool of himself.

He dances straight through the couch and to the open space behind it. His heart races with excitement because, man, he feels like a little kid again! He starts spinning like a lunatic, not even bothering to be cohesive at this point. The ceiling blurs as he stares up at it with a dumb smile on his face. He hasn’t heard music since they were kids. The only entertainment he got here was when Mom would play Herr Carlson for Dad when he became bedridden.

_“♪ I think we’re alone now - there doesn’t seem to be anyone around ♪”_

His knees wobble comically, and if anyone saw him now, Diego’s pretty sure he’d die all over again, this time from embarrassment.

_“♪ I think we’re alone now - the beating of our hearts is the only sound ♪”_

The song’s winding down, and Diego’s getting ready to pull out a backflip or something as equally cool when the music cuts out and all the lights turn off. He stops mid-spin as thunder rumbles from outside, rattling the windows.

“What the hell?”

The house rocks violently, the lights flickering like there’s been an outage. Is this an earthquake? Some sort of terrorist attack?

He runs to the window to look out at the back courtyard. Right above Ben’s statue, glowing blue and crackling with energy is a vast...portal? The wind howls as the maybe-portal continues to pulse and wobble. It looks like it’s fluctuating, not strong enough to hold a consistent shape.

Luther comes running out with Allison hot on his heels. Vanya trails after them, and Diego sticks his head through the window to listen.

“What is it!?”

“Don’t get too close!” Allison cries, dragging the other two back.

“It looks like some sort of temporal anomaly! Either that or a miniature black hole. One of the two.”

The portal flashes violently as if annoyed by Luther’s suggestion.

Klaus comes hurtling out into the courtyard with a fire extinguisher, shoving past Luther and Vanya with a primal scream. “Out of the way!” He attempts to spray the foam into the portal, which, of course, does nothing, then resorts to throwing it in instead.

They all watch as the fire extinguisher disappears harmlessly.

Allison waves her arms. “What is _that_ gonna do!?”

“I don’t know!” Klaus cries. “Do you have a better idea?”

The portal crackles loudly, and Luther pulls Klaus back to safety. “Everyone get behind me!”

“What’ll that do, Paul Bunyan?” Diego asks. He’s nearly through the upper wall by now, leaning far out to see better. He could go down there, but then Klaus will see him, and that will raise questions he doesn’t think he can answer, and -

Klaus shakes his head. “I vote for running! C’mon!”

Allison and Luther are holding hands like they aren’t in imminent danger and are instead the leads in a romantic comedy. About incest. “Seriously, guys? Is now the time for that?”

A face appears in the portal. It’s an old man, and he’s screaming, blurring like he’s on a TV screen with a bad signal. Diego squints into the wind. _“Wait a second...”_

Then, as if its power source has finally run out, the portal disappears in a rush of sound, and the old man drops to the leaves scattered across the courtyard.

Only...he’s not an old man anymore. Instead, he’s - he’s -

“Does anyone else see little Number Five...or is that just me?”

Five, because it’s really him, _holy shit,_ looks down at the oversized suit he’s wearing. “Shit.” He looks just as Diego remembers, still thirteen. What the hell is going on? Is he a ghost? A multi-person hallucination?

Allison rubs her eyes. _“Five?”_

Okay, so not a ghost. Holy hell.

Five shoots her a look as if to say ‘no duh’ and teleports behind them to the door. He disappears inside without a word.

“Uh,” says Luther. The courtyard is oddly silent now, with the portal gone and the wind as calm as it had been earlier. The sky is gray, though, as if it might start raining at any moment. “I guess we should...follow?”

They follow after him, and Diego goes back through the wall to head downstairs. He finds them in the kitchen, gathered around the table. Five is making himself a...a _peanut butter and marshmallow_ sandwich? Well, that hasn't changed, has it? He’s still got as bad dietary choices as he always did.

“So,” says Luther. “Are we gonna talk about what just happened?”

Five doesn’t even look at him.

Luther leaps to his feet. “It’s been seventeen years!”

Scoffing, Five shoots him a glare. He looks tiny beside their giant brother, still wearing that over-sized suit. “It’s been a lot longer than that.” He teleports straight through him.

“I haven’t missed that.”

Diego, incredulous, leans up against the dresser beside them. “Where’d you go?”

Klaus jumps and looks at him with wide eyes. After a moment, he nods in agreement. “Yeah, where’d you go?”

Five teleports back. “The future. It’s shit, by the way.”

“Called it!”

“I should’ve listened to the old man. You know, jumping through space is one thing, jumping through time is the toss of a dice.” He looks up at them, spots Klaus’ bare legs from where they’d folded on the table. “Nice dress.”

“Oh,” Klaus looks down at himself bashfully. “Danke.”

“How did you get back?” Vanya asks, obviously still confused.

“In the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time.”

_What?_ “That makes _no_ sense,” Diego frowns. Klaus glances at him again, but nobody else replies.

“I agree.”

Diego nearly jumps out of his skin. Ben’s standing at Klaus’ left shoulder, hands in his pockets. He’s staring at Five like he can’t believe his eyes.

“How long were you there?”

“Forty-five years. Give or take.”

Ben’s eyebrows fly up. “Holy shit.”

Luther sits down, slow and shocked.  “So...what are you saying? That you’re _fifty-eight?”_

Holy shit. That definitely one-ups Diego’s whole ‘being dead’ thing. He’s glad he hasn’t mentioned it now! Little Number Five, stuck in the future for _forty-five years?_ No wonder he’s so mad.

“No,” Five says like they’re all idiots. “My consciousness is fifty-eight. Apparently, my body is now thirteen again.”

Vanya shakes her head. “Wait, how does that even work?”

“Delores kept saying the equations were off.” Five takes a bite of his nasty sandwich. “Bet she’s laughing now.”

“Delores?” Vanya repeats. They all stare, agape.

Five picks up a newspaper instead of bothering to reply. On the front cover is Dad’s face and the headline reads: _‘CITY SAYS GOODBYE TO REGINALD HARGREEVES’._ “Guess I missed the funeral.”

“How’d you know about that?”

“Seriously?” Ben mutters, shaking his head. “He’s fifty-eight, Luther."

“What part of the future do you not understand?” Five asks sarcastically. He sets the newspaper down. “Heart failure, huh?”

“Yeah,” says Klaus.

“No,” Luther snaps.

Five looks them over. He clicks his tongue. “Nice to see nothing’s changed.” And off he goes.

Allison speaks up for the first time. Diego can see she’s still in shock, hand clutched to her chest. “Uh, that’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“What _else_ is there to say?” Five calls over his shoulder. “The circle of life!”

The six of them, at a loss for words, look at each other. Ben’s laughing to himself and Diego sort of wants to join him. What a funeral, huh? Dad'll be mad he missed the opportunity to yell at Five for going AWOL and ruining his carefully-laid plans.

“Well,” says Luther finally. “That was interesting.”

* * *

When Luther calls them outside for the funeral, it’s raining.

Fitting, probably, as the air is heavy with silence as they walk out single-file. Diego stands off to one side. Klaus glances at him, smiles, but Diego doesn’t return it. He hated Dad, but....but there’s something sad in him. Grief at the loss of the good father they could have had all these years. The potential Dad had to be a great man...wasted. Now all that remains of Reginald Hargreeves is a pile of gray ash.

Ben’s statue is wet with rain, made of black stone that looks nothing like him. It doesn't look like Ben did when he died, and it doesn’t look like Ben did when he lived, either. It’s the son Dad saw, the one he wanted - who obeyed every order and completed every mission and won every fight. Not _their_ Ben.

As they gather around Luther, Mom looks around at their somber faces with a smile. “Did something happen?”

“Dad died,” says Allison. “Remember?”

She, Vanya, and Five have black umbrellas, while Klaus’ is bright pink. Diego, Ben, and Luther stand in the rain, though Luther is the only one to get wet from it. Diego stands close to Mom, wanting to reach out and comfort her.

“Oh,” she says, face falling. Diego’s heart cracks. “Yes, of course.”

“Is Mom okay?”

Nobody answers. Diego looks at her face, the perfect makeup, the 1050’s-style clothing, but he doesn’t see a robot or a machine. He sees his mom, the same woman who’d kiss his scraped knees and help him practice his words and tuck him into bed. “She just needs to rest.” He reaches out a hand, but it hovers in the air above her shoulder. “To recharge.”

Pogo joins them, slow in his old age, and leaning heavily on his cane. Diego doesn’t see much of him around the house, but he’d always been closer to Luther. Just like Dad. “Whenever you’re ready, dear boy.”

Luther nods. He’s clutching Dad’s urn in tight fingers, rain splashing off his hair and down onto his thick coat. He lets out a huff of white mist.

Diego watches, as silent as the dead, as Luther carefully lifts the lid and tips the urn. The ashes fall to the wet leaves that cover the courtyard, forming a small pile.

Ben laughs. “Jesus.”

“Probably would’ve been better with some wind.”

Pogo bows his head solemnly. “Does anyone wish to speak?”

They’re all silent, listening to the patter of the rain. Klaus puffs away on a cigarette, Five looks bored, Vanya shuffles her feet, and Allison has her eyes closed. Luther’s still staring at the sad little pile of Dad. 

“Very well,” Pogo continues. He takes a step forward. “In all regards, Sir Reinald Hargreeves made me what I am today. For that alone, I shall forever be in his debt. He was my master...and my friend. And I shall miss him very much.” Diego shakes his head, angry. “He leaves behind a complicated legacy, but -"

“He was a monster,” Diego says. Klaus glances at him and laughs nervously, but Pogo continues. They always continue, don’t they? They forget he _exists._ They don’t notice that he’s _dead,_ that his body’s still rotting away in a _drainage ditch -_

He can’t listen to this - he can’t - _fuck._ He turns and hurries back inside, leaving the others to their sick façade of a funeral. How could they possibly mourn a man like Dad? They should be having a party, for god’s sake. A city-wide holiday even!

_Reginald Hargreeves_ was a bad person and a worse father. Diego doesn’t understand why the others came back for the funeral, and he doesn’t think he ever will. For Five to turn up too...it just takes the cake, doesn’t it? The seven of them, reunited once more, just as dad would’ve wanted.

He goes straight to his room, walking through Klaus’ just to get there. It’s as it always is, impeccably neat and thoroughly dusted thanks to Mom.

Diego sits on the floor, stares out the window at the raindrops running down the glass. His heart, were it to beat at all, would be racing.  “The world’s better off without him,” he whispers, rubbing his fingers on his cheek, feeling the scratch of his stubble, the cold that seeped into his skin eight years ago and never left. 

He can’t begrudge them paying their respects, but what he can’t handle is them being dishonest about the kind of man he was. The kind of _father_ he was. 

Time passes slowly. Or...fast. He can never quite tell which.

At one point, he hears the car rumble off down the driveway. It’s not Klaus or Luther, so...Vanya? Allison? _Five?_ Is everyone in that much of a rush to leave now that the leftover bits from Dad are dumped outside?

And what about Luther and his little hunch? Has he found the monocle? Realized he’s just a big idiot with way too much paranoia to be healthy? That sounds entirely unlike Luther, but maybe he’s changed, kept alone for four years like he’s been. It’s undoubtedly changed Diego a hell of a lot.

* * *

When he shakes himself free of his thoughts, the rain has stopped. The sun’s peeking through the clouds, cheerful and bright, so he looks at his clock, still sitting on his nightstand, to see that it says ‘9:06’. Fuck. Had an entire day passed by already?

He’s somewhat glad, because the darkness reminds him of the night he died, the night he fucked up so bad some loser put a bullet in his head to spray his brains across the concrete. But, also...who knows what the others have been up to in this time? Has anyone left?

Diego walks straight through his bedroom door and out into the hallway. Luther and Allison are in her room, and Diego stands in the doorway to spy on them. Allison’s packing her suitcase, smiling softly. She’s leaving _already?_ But it’s only been one day...

Luther walks closer to her, inspects the old posters on the wall. “Well, you must be eager to see Claire, huh?”

“Claire?” Diego says, lost. “Who the hell is Claire?”

“I didn’t think it was possible to miss a person this much.”

He twigs. “Oh shit. _Claire._ Your kid.” Damn, Allison has a _kid._ How weird is that? One of them, entrusted with the life of a small human...it’s some real crazy shit.

“But I’ve got some things I need to do before I can see her.” She looks thoughtfully down into her suitcase. “You know, someday I’d _really_...love for you to meet her.”

“Me?”

_“Him?”_ Diego gapes, offended. “What about the rest of us, huh?”

“Yeah, you!” Allison laughs. “Why not?”

“Well...does Claire even know about me?”

Allison squints at him, steps around the bed, and folds her arms. “What are you talking about? Of course, she knows about you.”

“I - I know, it’s just, when you left, it seemed like...all you wanted to do was forget this place ever existed, so...”

“This place? Yes,” she says. “But not you.” They stare into each other’s eyes longingly. “You know, when Claire was little, I used to, uh, read her books about the moon. I’d tell her that her uncle was living up there. That he was...protecting us from harm.”

“Oh great,” Diego sasses. “Yeah, that worked so well for me. Thanks, Luther.”

Luther smiles bashfully, and they both laugh. “Really?” 

“I mean, you were...her own personal superhero.”

“You remember that you guys are siblings, right?” Diego says. “Allison, you think you would get by now that maybe romance isn’t your forte." He's just being bitter, he knows that, but Diego will never forget going back to that motel and seeing the news of her engagement on the TV. "How’s your marriage again?”

“Even after all this time, I know she would love to meet you.”

Luther stares for a second. Then he averts his gaze to clear his throat. Diego can sense his social faux pas coming from a mile away. “Uh, Dad’s monocle is still missing, so I can’t just forget about that.”

Allison’s hopeful smile slips away. “Dad _died_ because his heart gave out, Luther.” She follows him across the room. “Don’t turn his death into...into a _mission.”_

“Is that what you think this is?”

She touches his arm. “I...think there’s a reason why you never left. And, well, Diego -" Diego’s ears perk up. Oh, this will be good.

“This isn’t about Diego!” Luther snaps, jerks away from her. “You can’t say it’s only me who finds it suspicious that he isn’t here -"

“But it _is_ just you, Luther! He didn’t come to the funeral for a reason and - and I can’t really blame him!” Her frustrated grimace softens slightly. “Look, Diego and Dad never had the best relationship. Surely, you can understand why he might not want to come.”

_“No,”_ Luther says stubbornly. “I don’t understand, Allison. Dad was his father too and to just forget everything he did for us -"

“He’s not forgetting, Luther!” Allison cries, cutting across him. She looks away. “He’s just moved on.” As she stops in the doorway, directly in front of Diego, he can see the devastation on her face, the tightness to her jaw, and the glistening in her eyes. Luther’s words have really hurt her. “Maybe you should too.”

She walks through him and Diego shivers.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Luther this chapter! And some Vanya-hate. Just a reminder that this story is written from Diego's point of view, so we'll only be hearing from his perspective. He's pretty mad with her at the moment, so his thoughts won't exactly be kind.
> 
> Please do leave a comment if you've enjoyed this chapter! I'm hoping to get the next one (or two...) out tomorrow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy Season 2 is out now on Netflix! I've already watched the whole thing and it was amazing!! So excited for the announcement about Season 3, but I know it's going to be ages before they even start filming...

* * *

Pogo’s on the warpath when Diego first notices him. Slow on his cane, he’s still heading down the stairs at a pretty impressive rate for an old monkey. Diego follows, of course, because there’s not much else for him to do other than be nosy. He’s hoping to see Ben, too, as, besides the brief glimpse at the funeral, he’s yet to see his brother.

It soon becomes apparent just who’s about to be the focus of Pogo’s ire, as Klaus is rifling through a display cabinet in one of the smaller sitting rooms. Ben, looking unimpressed, is reading a book on the couch.

Pogo clears his throat and Klaus practically jumps out of his skin, spinning around with an innocent smile on his face. He’s wearing the most minimal amount of clothes possible - a pair of multi-colored briefs.

“Christ on a cracker!” he yells, clutching his chest. He’s, of course, holding a cigarette. “Pogo?” Ben smirks.

“My apologies, Master Klaus,” Pogo says, entirely _un_ apologetic. He's always been that way, especially when ignoring what Dad did to them as kids. “I have a query for you.”

Diego laughs. “Oh, this will be good.” He leans up against one of the marble columns in the center of the room, behind Pogo.

Klaus shoots him a dirty look, but Pogo doesn’t so much as twitch. “Oh?”

“Items from your father’s office have gone missing. In particular, an ornate box with pearl inlay," his voice is heavy with aimed criticism. It's very clear he's already decided _exactly_ who took Dad's extra special box. Klaus is nearly always the number one suspect when things go missing around the Academy.

Ben closes his book and swivels to look up at Klaus. “Really?”

“Really?” Klaus repeats, looking fascinated. He smiles innocently. “You don’t say...”

“Any idea where it went?”

“Uhh.” Staring off into the distance, lost in thought, Klaus pulls that familiar face that means he’s guilty as hell. He’s got an awful poker face, even after all these years. “No...no, no. No idea.”

Ben looks up from his book. “Liar.”

“Drop dead,” Klaus snaps back.

Amused, Ben turns to shoot him a mock-upset face. _“Low blow.”_

_ “Would you shut up?" _

Pogo gasps, affronted. “Excuse me?” He turns to leave, muttering to himself.

“Pogo, I didn’t mean you!” Klaus yelps, chasing after him. “I - I didn’t mean you, I just...I - you know, there’s been a lot of stuff I’ve been dealing with! Just a lot of memories coming up. All those _good_ times. Well, not so much good times as...really awful, terrible, depressing times.” He takes a drag of his cigarette, and Diego’s already shaking his head in disapproval. Nobody can lie to Pogo, especially not Klaus; that monkey’s _seen_ some shit, man. He knows when he’s being played.

“The contents of that box are...priceless,” Pogo says after a moment's pause. “Were they to find their way back to the office...whoever took it would find themselves absolved of any blame or consequences.”

Despite the offered out, Klaus keeps up his charade. “Oh, well, lucky bastard.” He looks over at Diego, pouting. “Why aren’t you interrogating him, Pogo? Why’s everything always on poor ol' Klaus?” He makes quite a sight, nearly naked and coming down from a high; not exactly the kind of guy you'd put any trust in.

Pogo looks over at Diego and sees empty air. He huffs. _“Goodbye,_ Master Klaus.”

They watch him limp away and Klaus groans, rubbing his tired face. He shoots Diego a look full of ire. “Well, you were of no help.”

Diego holds up his hands defensively. “Pogo knows I'm not a thief," he says, quick on the excuse. "It's not like it'd be the first time you've taken something, Klaus." Or, undoubtedly, the last.

“Where’ve you been anyway? You ran out on the funeral - you should’ve heard Pogo’s speech, by the way, I thought he’d never shut up! I thought you’d left, got out whilst you still could.”

“Nah,” Diego says. “I’m think planning on sticking around a while.”

Klaus’ face lights up. “Really? Well...maybe we can hang out or something? Get some waffles, go for a drive...whatever you want, man!” He looks eager and Diego finds it sad. He thinks his brother's likely gone a long time since having genuine human interaction.

“I like waffles,” says Ben, who’s gone back to reading his book. “If Diego’s down?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Diego says. “Look, Klaus, we need to talk.”

“Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

"Do you remember 2012? The beginning, I mean. January time.”

“Uh, well, sure. I mean, I remember _parts."_ Klaus giggles to himself and flops back onto the couch, upside-down. "What about it?”

“We ran into each other,” Diego recounts, nervous even after all these years. “You were rooting through a dumpster and I had just -" - _died._

“Yeah! Yeah, alright, I remember that.” He sits up, turns around to stare at Diego from a higher vantage point. “Mein bruder, you look good, now that I think about it. What’s your, you know - your skincare routine? Do you moisturize? Peach and apricot scrub?"

_“Klaus.”_

Ben tuts. “Let him speak, Klaus.”

“I’m just saying! It’s a compliment!” Klaus holds his hands up defensively. “You look good for your age, man, that’s all.”

“This is _important.”_

“Is it about what Luther said? Because, well, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but he’s been up on the moon this entire time, so it’s probably done some pretty freaky stuff to his brain and you can't really hold it against the poor guy -"

“Klaus!” Diego yells, sick of it all. “Would you let me finish?”

Klaus blinks. “Uh, okay. Go ahead.”

“Alright,” Diego says. He takes a deep breath. “I’m just gonna come right out and say it.” He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. “Klaus -"

“Yes?”

“I -"

“Are you confessing your love to me right now?” Klaus asks, fascinated. “Because I’m flattered, but we’re no Allison and Luther so I only see you as a brother -“

“What!? No! What I’m trying to say is - is -"

“Klaus?” Allison’s standing in the doorway. “You okay?”

“Get lost, Allison,” Diego snaps, but Klaus’ attention is already diverting to her. He’s lost his chance again.

“As ever, dear sister,” he says, bowing a little. “How may we be of service?”

Allison doesn’t even blink at the plural reference. Diego doesn’t even blink at that. He’s dead, has been for eight years, and he’s well used to being ignored. At first, he’d struggled with the loneliness, the desperation to be noticed, and he’d spent a lot of days following people around, participating in conversations he had no invitation to, all to feel like his opinion mattered even the smallest amount.

“We’re meeting in Five’s room,” she says, leaning on the doorframe. “Right now, actually, so come on. But...put some clothes on first. Your _own_ clothes, Klaus, not mine.” Diego still finds it weird to see her looking so rich - the pantsuit, the blond ombre in her hair, the excellent makeup...it doesn’t look at all like the sister he can remember. The Allison who wore a schoolgirl uniform every day, loved sparkly nail polish and sat with only Luther during free time. The Allison who...who used to...who said -

Diego’s brain fizzles and he shakes his head to clear away the cobwebs. This ghost thing was getting to him. He needs to talk to...to someone...

“What, just you and me in Five’s room?” Klaus asked, fetching his fallen clothes and hopping about on one foot to shimmy into his leather pants. “I’m not so sure if you’ve noticed, Allison, but you’re my sister and-"

“Not just us,” she says, irritated. Now, this was more the Allison he knew. “It’s you, me, and Five.”

Klaus gasps dramatically. “No Luther? How will he accuse us of murdering our family members if he’s not at the next family meeting? And poor Diego, poor Vanya. We’re going to _exclude_ our own siblings like that? For shame!”

“No skin off my back,” Diego says. “Good luck.” He knows precisely what they’re going to be talking about. Him and Dad. Did Diego murder Dad? If not, then where’s his stupid monocle gone?

“Auf wiedersehen,” Klaus says, flashing his ‘goodbye’ hand tattoo. He’s still shirtless, but that’s par for the course with Klaus. Even when he’s wearing clothes, they usually expose a lot more skin than most would be comfortable seeing. He’s always dressed like that, ever since he could get away with it when they were kids.

Ben’s still reading his book in the window. The light doesn’t hit his skin, of course, but apart from that, he could be living. They both could be.

Diego sighs, going over to join him. He collapses on the couch and flops an arm over his face. “That could’ve gone better.”

“You don’t say,” Ben says. He sighs, though, and Diego hears him close the book with a snap. “They won’t react as badly as you think.”

“Trust me, they will,” Diego replies. He pulls his arm away and stares up at the intricate wood carving of the ceiling sconces. “You were there in 2006.”

Ben taps his foot, but it makes no sound. He shakes his head in denial, way more argumentative now then he’d ever been as a kid. Everyone’s changed so much but Diego feels like he’s the same. A dumb college reject who’d never grow-up, never live. “That was different. I was seventeen and they saw the whole thing. It’s been nearly a decade for you and nobody could’ve stopped it. There’s nothing for them to feel guilty about.”

Diego laughs at that. Sure, it makes _sense,_ but nothing about their family is precisely sensical, is it? “And that stopped us so well in the past! Everyone’s so messed up as it is - Luther, Vanya, Klaus, _Five_...”

“And Allison,” Ben points out. “She -"

“She’s got her life together better than the rest of us,” Diego snaps. He doesn’t want to think wrong of Allison just yet. His brain’s too over-taxed as it is thinking about the others. It’s nice to have a sibling, besides Ben, of course, to rely on to be sensible, even if it’s only a little. “You think you’d drop that whole thing by now.”

“If it wasn’t for ‘that whole thing’,” Ben does air quotations, “then you could’ve been hanging out with Klaus and me all these years. There’s only so many times you can watch him overdose and laugh without feeling like it’s an overused joke.”

“Shit, Ben,” Diego says. He swings his leg over the couch and sits up. “That’s fucking dark.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Ben shrugs. “He dies? I have it on good authority that it’s not as bad as some people think.”

“Yeah, but who’s going to conjure books for you to read if Klaus is dead? And the others will never find out about me then, will they? They’ll just think I...I murdered Dad and took off. Luther will probably go to the cops.”

“I do love books.” Ben nods thoughtfully at that. “So... _did_ you murder Dad?”

“Yes, Ben,” Diego deadpans. “I ghost murdered him.” He shakes his head. “Be serious for once.”

“I am being serious! It makes me wonder if you and I are...different.” He looks at himself, dressed in all black and much older than he was when he died. In comparison, Diego is the same as he’d been that cold 2011 winter’s day, bloody head wound, and all. “You look young.”

“I was young, man,” Diego shrugs. “Not as young as you, but barely old enough to drink.” He thinks about his brother’s honest question, about their father and his death. “Look. Honestly, if you told me I could’ve killed Dad like this and gotten away with it, then I would’ve. He was a piece of shit who got better than he deserved.”

“I...can’t disagree with that.”

“But I didn’t kill him, Ben, I swear. I couldn’t, not like this. I don’t have Klaus around to conjure me up things to interact with like you - there’s no way I could interact with objects well enough to steal some dumb monocle. And, before you ask, I don’t know where it is either. I wasn’t there when he died, but I saw his body right before the coroner showed up. It looked pretty normal to me. No break-in or anything.”

“I just don’t understand,” Ben says softly. He looks thoughtful. “If you didn’t take it and if nobody else broke in...then it has to be one of us.”

“Can’t have been Klaus,” Diego says. “Since you would’ve noticed.”

“Right.”

“And Luther was on the moon when Dad died. Allison?”

Ben shakes his head. “She was definitely in California the day he died. I saw it on TV.”

“So that leaves...” He trails off.

They share a look and then say, as one: _“Vanya?”_

* * *

“We need to talk about what’s going on with Diego,” Five says from inside his bedroom. Ben and Diego, having walk straight past an unaware Luther sulking in his room to smooth jazz, likely because of his argument with Allison earlier, are sitting crouched outside Five’s door. It feels like good old times again, spying on one of his siblings to get some gossip.

“Five, I think we have bigger things going on at the moment than Diego’s new life,” says Allison, sounding tired. “I need to get back to California -"

“For your court-mandated therapy?” Five asks snidely. “Yes, I know.”

“Ouch,” says Klaus. Ben rolls his eyes.

“Would they get to the point?” he whispers. “At this rate, we’ll die again before anyone says something useful.”

Diego eyes him. “Klaus has changed you, man.”

“Stick with anyone for sixteen years and that will happen.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing I haven’t brought it up then,” Diego mutters. He and Ben press closer to the door, shoulder-to-shoulder. It's nice, feeling the press of his brother's arm into his side, especially after so long being alone. “Knowing my luck, I’d be stuck with Luther and end up a little Dad-worshipper through the sheer power of association.”

Ben’s nose wrinkles, like he’s disgusted. Diego still, even after six years, can't get over that he’s seeing his brother how old he should be - as an adult and not perpetually seventeen in his memories. He's jealous of it as well, wishes he wasn't stuck in his twenty-one-year-old body. Would he have a beard by now? A different haircut? Would he have bulked up more?

Through the gap between the door and the frame, Diego can see Five pacing by the window, Klaus sat on the bed and Allison the desk chair. It feels weird, seeing Five’s old room now occupied. Mom had dusted and kept it clean, but nobody other than Diego has stepped foot in there since Five left until now.

“Five, you called us here for a reason,” Allison says, obviously losing her patience with their brothers. “Us and not Luther.”

“Very astute,” says Five. “Yes, I did. You see, _he_ may be obsessed with who killed dad, but I have more important things to worry about. Namely, Diego.”

“Me?” Diego repeats incredulously. 

Ben shrugs. “He is from the future. Maybe he knows.”

_Fuck._ Diego hopes not. Five’s not precisely the soft type, even less so now he’s fresh from the future and fifty-eight years old, bitter as all hell. He can’t imagine Five would break the news sensitively.

“I thought that _is_ what Luther’s little conspiracy’s all about. Spill the beans!”

“I agree with Klaus,” says Allison. “Get to the point.”

“Alright,” replies Five. He clears his throat. “I believe Diego has information that may help prevent the end of the world. The apocalypse.”

Nobody says anything.

Then Ben starts laughing. Shoulders trembling with mirth and eyes squinted, he shakes his head. “I think Five’s lost his marbles.”

“Right,” says Allison slowly. “Five, are you serious? The apocalypse -"

Five groans in annoyance. “Don’t look at me like that, Allison! I know it’s difficult for your tiny brains to understand, but I know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen shit you couldn’t even begin to comprehend -"

“Woah, woah, woah,” Klaus says, holding up his hands. “Let’s all slow down. I’m still a _liiiittle_ caught up on ‘the end of the world’. That is what you said, right? I’m not hallucinating?”

“I’m sure you’re _always_ hallucinating somewhat, Klaus, but not about this. I meant what I said. The world is going to end in six days and I need Diego to stop it. Or we’re all fucked.”

Diego sits back on his heels, mind racing. How could _he_ help stop the so-called apocalypse? He doesn’t know shit about anything like that. Why would Five think he does? Because Diego’s been hanging around the Academy all these years, spying on Dad? But he’s never even overheard the old man piss, let alone one of his ridiculous schemes. Diego had spent the majority of his time around Mom and she’d barely seen Dad except when he’d begun to require palliative care.

“Six days,” repeats Allison. “Five...”

“Oh, don’t pity me. I’m not crazy, Allison -"

“I never said you were. Only...you’ve been through a lot and sometimes that can cause our brains to do strange things. I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like to be away from home for so long and while being so young, but -"

“For fuck’s sake!” Five yells. “I am an _adult!_ Not some traumatized child you can coddle and pamper. I know what I’m talking about and if you don’t want to help, then fine! I’ll do it by myself.”

Diego and Ben jump back as the door comes flying open and Five marches out, visibly shaking with anger. He teleports down the hall and disappears upstairs.

Allison sighs. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“Er,” says Klaus. “I’m...gonna be right back.”

“Shit,” Diego says. He throws himself sideways and through the wall just as Klaus leaves Five’s room. It may not hurt to fall as a ghost, but it sure does make him feel stupid.

Diego sits up, rubs his temples. The apocalypse? That can’t be real...maybe Allison is right and Five’s head really is all fucked up from the time travel. It wouldn’t exactly be surprising; none of their powers are entirely fool-proof, even for a guy as meticulous and logical as Five.

The room he’d fallen into is Luther’s. His brother sits on his bed, clearly lost in deep thought; Diego stares at him for a moment and then shakes his head. He has bigger things to worry about than Luther’s suspicions about him.

Ben pokes his head through the wall. “Klaus is going to help Five.”

“That’ll end well,” Diego says, getting to his feet. He follows Ben back down the hall just in time to see Allison disappear into her bedroom looking glum. “Where’d they go?”

“To Dad’s room. Five said something about raiding his closet.”

Diego’s nose wrinkles. Having to wear their father’s clothes sounds like a form of extreme torture. “Why the hell would they do that?”

“Beats me,” Ben shrugs. They stop at the bottom of the stairs as soon as they see Klaus and Five at the top, bickering.

“What? What are you talking about?” Five asks.

“I mean, was I really young when I had you? Like, sixteen? Like, young and,” Klaus clutches his chest dramatically, “terribly misguided?”

“Sure.”

“Your mother, that _slut_ , whoever she was. We met at...the disco.” He laughs to himself as if remembering this imaginary mother of his child. “Okay? Remember that!”

“The disco?” Diego repeats. “People still go to those?”

“Not really,” says Ben, tired. "I'm surprised he didn't say 'at a rave'."

Five sighs.

“Oh my God, the sex was amaaaazing!” Klaus continues, groaning. Diego grimaces, because isn't that a pleasant thought.

“What a disturbing glimpse into that thing you call a brain.”

“Don’t make me put you in time-out!” Klaus threatens, trailing after Five as he stalks off.

“Still don’t wanna come?” Ben asks, glancing at him. He looks unsure, and Diego can’t say he blames him, as it’s nice to have some company that they can actually interact with.

Diego shakes his head. He doesn’t want to get caught up in Klaus and Five’s madness any more than he already has. “No, I...I better stay here. Keep an eye on Mom, you know?”

“Alright, I’ll see you later, then.”

He watches Ben jog upstairs to follow Klaus, then turns to go back to his own room just as Vanya walks past.

“What the hell are _you_ doing back here?” he asks, scowling. “Come back to murder one of us now too?” He’s not sold on his and Ben’s theory, but it does make a scary amount of sense. Vanya loves to complain about how miserable her childhood was, so killing Dad to get revenge would possibly make her feel more in control. But was she really capable of that?

Diego follows her downstairs to the basement, but she pauses mid-step at the sound of their other sister’s voice.

“- it’s not a big deal if I miss one session,” Allison says. Her voice is trembling like she’s half-angry, half-upset. Diego peers over the railing at her. She’s on the hall phone, shifting from foot to foot in agitation, and her back is turned to him. “Patrick, it was my father’s _funeral._ You know, I’m pretty sure the court recognizes that as extenuating circumstances.”

“The court?” Diego wonders. He steps through the railing and lands silently next to his sister. “What have you gotten yourself into, Allison?” Was Five really telling the truth; did Allison have court-mandated therapy now? And why? Because of Dad?

“Is Claire there?” Allison says, voice as steady as she can make it. “Because I would like to say hello to my daughter, if that’s alright with you.”

Court-mandated therapy to allow her visitation rights? Fuck, that was a...a _big_ deal. What had she done for that to be the case? Mothers nearly always got preferential treatment in custody disagreements, Diego remembered that from what Dora had said of her own childhood experiences.

Allison closes her eyes. “No. Patrick! Don’t -" Her hand drops, the phone swinging loosely by her side. Diego can hear the dial tone. Her ex had hung up on her. _“Shit.”_ She slams the handheld back into place.

Hands in her pockets, Vanya steps off the bottom step and approaches. “Are you okay?”

“Clearly not,” Diego says, unsurprised she would ask.

“Yeah,” Allison replies, visibly putting herself back together. The tension in her shoulders is still apparent, though.

“Well, I’ve never met your ex-husband, but...he sounds like an asshole.”

Allison laughs. “That’s one word for it.”

“You know what? You’re probably better off here.”

“No, I’m probably better off with my _daughter,”_ Allison says, glaring.

Vanya realizes her mistake instantly. “Of course, um...I’m sorry, I didn’t -"

“You know, if I wanted advice, Vanya, no offense, it wouldn’t be from _you.”_

“Jesus Christ,” Diego says, looking between them. This is gold. “You guys are crazy, you know that?”

Voice subdued, Vanya’s brow furrows as she asks: “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t have a child. I mean, you’ve never even been in a relationship!”

“That’s not true.”

“So you know what it’s like to love someone like this? Like when you’re apart from her you can’t breathe? Like you would - you would die, and I - I mean actually... _die_...to know that she’s okay and happy?"

“She’s got you there,” Diego says with a shake of his head.

“You separate yourself from everyone and everything. You always have.”

Vanya looks up at her then, as previously her head had been bowed in shame. “Because Dad made me,” she denies, looking hurt and offended.

“Did Dad _make_ you write that book about us too?”

“And there it is,” says Diego, glad to see someone else saying it too. The way Allison had welcomed their sister back so warmly had irked him to no end, so it’s nice she’s also pissed about the book - about the violation of the privacy they rightfully deserved. “Take about a motive for murder, huh?"

Allison makes to leave but turns back at the door with a frown. “You’re an adult now, Vanya. You don’t get to blame your problems on anyone but yourself.”

As Allison disappears from view, her lip trembling and a betrayed look in her eyes, Diego turns back to his other sister.

She looks betrayed and a myriad of other emotions all rolled into one. Diego can understand her on some small level - the anger she has against dad, resentment from when they were kids, but that’s it. Any sympathy dissolves in the face of his own experiences with feeling eternally second-best, jealous of her freedom to explore her passions as a child; the loneliness she’d felt growing up is nothing when your body is rotting in a ditch and eight long years pass by - where nobody noticed you're gone, that you're _dead._ Were things different, were Diego still alive, maybe he could empathize with her. But not now, not when he knows he’ll never get to get married, or have kids, or join the police force. Not when he’s stuck like this, for all eternity, with only the occasional company of their other dead brother.

“She’s right,” he tells her, mind still caught on that stupid fucking _book._ “You can think whatever you want about how we treated you as kids, but none of us deserved that shit, Vanya. You don’t get to ruin our lives because you feel like we ruined yours.” And that's that on fucking that.

* * *

“When Allison told you to get a life,” Diego says. “I don’t think she meant this, Luther.”

Luther, standing beside him in his 6’5” glory, does not reply for apparent reasons. He looks to be psyching himself up, though Diego can’t possibly figure out why. Is he turning himself in? Did he really murder Dad, and not Vanya, after all?

“You can do this,” he tells himself and then he marches inside the station.

Diego follows him, walking straight through the door as it swings shut behind his brother. “Here we go.” The desk lady, who he recognizes from his last visit, is filling out paperwork when Luther approaches.

“Excuse me,” he says.

She looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, I...well, I’m looking for a guy I think might work here. His name is Diego Hargreeves, but he might be using a different surname.” Luther starts rooting through the pockets of his heavy coat. “I have a photograph -"

“Don’t bother,” she says, holding up a hand to halt him. “I can’t give out that kind of information to any old walk-in off the streets, you understand.”

Luther shakes his head. “No, you don’t understand; he’s my brother.” He fumbles out a piece of paper and Diego’s shocked to see it’s a photo of him, aged seventeen, right before he left the Academy. He’s smiling, given that Mom was the one to take the picture, and wearing his uniform. Dad had ordered their photos to be taken once a year to track their physical growth and appearance changes. How the hell had Luther gotten his hands on this?

“Have you been going through _Dad’s stuff?”_ Diego asks. “Who would’ve thought you’d have the guts to do that, Luther!”

Luther holds the photo out beseechingly. “Please,” he says. “This was taken when we were kids, but it’s the last photo I have. Will you just take a look?”

The desk lady, obviously sympathetic, still shakes her head. “I really can’t -"

“Is everything alright here, Joan?”

Diego’s heart stutters. He turns, all air leaving his lungs.  “Eudora,” he breaths.

“This guy’s looking for his brother,” says Joan, relieved to be free of her big, demanding burden. “Thinks he works here, or something. I said I couldn’t help, but he’s...pretty insistent.”

“Your brother?” Dora asks. She looks suspicious and rightly so. Diego had forgotten how beautiful she was. “We can’t give out private information like that to the public, _sir._ Now, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Or else you’ll be spending the night in the cells for being a nuisance.”

Luther opens his mouth to argue. Then his huge shoulders slump, photo hanging at his side. “Fine,” he says bitterly. “Thanks for your help.”

Diego watches him leave, torn. On one hand, he wants to stay with Dora, to see how she’s been, but on the other, he remembers the bitter betrayal that had formed the last time he saw her on Christmas Day in 2015; when he finally realized that she had moved on with her life and forgotten him.

Luckily, his decision is soon made for him when Dora gasps. She must've seen the photo Luther was clutching.

“Wait!” she calls and Luther freezes. Dora hurries over to him and leans forward, dropping her voice to a whisper. She looks oddly nervous. “You’re Diego’s brother?”

Luther jolts. “You know him? Is he here? Is -"

“Are you his brother or not?” she demands, cutting him off. “I can’t just take your word for it, so show me your tattoo.”

“I - I can’t,” Luther says, looking nervous. “It’s a long story and I know it makes me look suspicious, but Diego _is_ my brother. I’m Number One - Luther. Look in the newspaper and you’ll see my face if you have to. I came back from the moon last week and there was a whole article about it.”

“Alright, say I believe you,” she replies skeptically. “Answer me this, big guy; the comics always said Diego was close with you - to Number One. But I know that’s not true, so who _was_ he -"

“Mom,” Luther answers quickly. “He was always closest to our mom.”

“Damn right,” Diego says.

Dora takes a moment to look Luther up and down. Huge, dressed entirely inappropriately for the weather, and obviously worked-up. He's not your typical crazy and she must see that too. “Fine,” she gives in eventually. “Let’s talk outside. I don’t want to be overheard.”

Diego follows them out to the parking lot, anxiously bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Where’s my brother?” Luther demands as soon as they stop by Dora's patrol car. “If you really know him, then you should know _where_ he is.”

“Of course I know him,” Dora says, folding her arms to show how unimpressed she is with Luther's bad attitude. “We went to college together. I was doing my BA in Economics and his was in Spanish Studies.”

“Spanish?” Luther repeats. He frowns. “I didn’t know that.”

“He wanted to learn more about his heritage,” explains Dora, like Luther's stupid. Diego can't blame her for that. “Where his - he found out that he was born in Mexico when we were applying."

“What is this?” Diego asks, embarrassed. “My life story sharing time? Can you guys just get to the point?” Plus, the reminder of those years, of months and months, pulling all-nighters and stealing his classmates' textbooks...all of it, gone to waste...yeah, it's a shitty feeling, one he doesn't want to revisit anytime soon.

“- but he got expelled when we were in our final year. Got into a fight with some frat boy and the dean didn’t look too favorably on the Mexican guy with a sketchy past beating up his son, so that was that.”

“He got expelled?” Luther says. “The fighting I can believe, sure, but Diego always did well in our classes when we were kids. Didn't he re-enroll somewhere else?”

“Well...no.”

Luther shakes his head, looking confused. “Then how does he work here?”

Dora blinks. “You - you think Diego _works_ here?”

“He...doesn’t? Our dad’s notes mentioned this place and I just assumed he was an officer or something. It sounded like something Diego would do. You know...civil service.”

“Oh, shit,” Dora mutters, rubbing her eyes. She looks tired, like the weight of the world rests on her shoulders and Diego feels a pang of melancholy. How different would things be if he was still around? Would she be happier or would he have only made things worse? “Look, I’m not sure how to tell you this...but I haven’t spoken to Diego in years. Not since he got kicked out of college.”

“I thought you said you were friends.” Luther looks defensive now. _Angry._ “Why the hell would you lie to me about something like that?”

“Look. Just...let me see that picture,” Dora says, taking it from him. She stares down at young Diego's face, expression pensive. She touches his printed smile gently and sighs. “I put Diego up in a motel the night he got expelled. You know, until he got back on his feet.”

“Which motel?”

“Davis Street 24/7, the one out by the clubbing district,” Dora says. Diego’s impressed she can still remember it so clearly even after all these years. Has he been on her mind as much as she’s been on his? ”Anyway, he rang me at some point and we got into it - I was mad he threw away his future like that and he was...well, I think he was angrier with himself than me. After we hung up, I left to go and see him. Figured it would be better with us talking face-to-face, you know? But...I got there and he was gone.”

“Gone,” Luther repeats. “What do you mean he was _gone?”_

Dora shrugs sadly. “He skipped town, left a note and that was it. I haven’t seen him since.” She pulls her wallet out and unfolds it. “Here.” She pulls out a well-creased piece of paper and hands it over. “You should probably have this. Family and all that.”

“You kept it?” Diego asks, stunned. “Dora...you've walked around with that stupid note in your pocket all this time?”

But, of course, she doesn’t reply. She never will.

Luther unfolds the note, reads it silently. By the time he’s finished, his face is a lot paler. “And you’re sure this is the last communication you’ve had with him?”

“Just that,” she replies. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be any more help, but I would’ve thought he’d contact one of you by now... Have you tried asking your Mom?”

“Yeah,” says Luther, with a wry twist to his lips. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Dora reluctantly hands over Diego’s photo. “Let me know if you hear from him. It’d be nice to catch up, go for a drink or something.”

“Sure thing,” Luther says quietly. Diego wonders what the hell is going through his thick skull right now because he looks freaked the fuck out. “Thanks for your help.”

Diego stands on the sidewalk with Dora until Luther drives away. He looks at her, studying her tired face. “I’m sorry I made you think I ran off. I’d...never just leave you like that.”

Dora sighs. “Oh Diego,” she murmurs. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Wish I knew, Dora; let me know when you find out.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon's starting to change! This time, Luther did not go to the boxing gym where Diego lives, didn't have a heart-to-heart with him and instead went to the station to talk to Patch. Diego also wasn't at Griddy's to find out about the shooting, because he didn't take Klaus for a drive. Also, Allison and Klaus now know about the apocalypse, as Five, for unknown reasons, believes Diego knows how to stop it.
> 
> Also...surprise! Ben knows.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed it and please leave me a review if you did! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs:  
> \- graphic depictions of dead bodies  
> \- medical procedures  
> \- sad

* * *

Investigator's Notes

NYPD - Case 2011-77925

**Last, First, Middle:** DOE #117, JOHN

**AKA:** #117

**Case Status:** OPEN

**Body Status:** PENDING

Victim

Sex: _MALE_

Approximate Age: _~25 YEARS_

Race: _HISPANIC/LATIN AMERICAN_

Height: _72in._

Weight: _UNKNOWN_

Eyes: _UNKNOWN_

Hair: _BLACK_

Teeth: _ALL NATURAL_

Facial Hair: _NONE_

Condition: _SKELETONIZED_

Manner: _HOMICIDE_

Circumstances

Place of Death/Place Found: _DITCH_

Date: _06/12/13 (JUNE)_

Time: _08:31_

Pronounced By: _NYPD #20618_

Transported By: _JANE WYMACK_ To: _NYC FSC_

Fingerprints: _NO_

Clothing: _YES_

Med. Ev.: _NO_

Phy. Ev.: _YES_

Suicide Note: _NO_

GSR: _NO_

Hosp. Rpt.: _NO_

Hosp. Chart: _NO_

Synopsis: _ON THE EARLY AM OF 06/12/13 AT ~08:32 HRS, THIS APPROX. ~25-YR OLD MALE (JOHN DOE D/T DECOMP.) WAS FOUND BY MAINTENANCE WORKERS ON WET MARSH LN. IN A DRAINAGE DITCH. HE WAS BELIEVED TO HAVE BEEN DEAD FOR NO LESS THAN 6 MNTHS. AND NO MORE THAN 3 YRS. HIS REMAINS WERE FULLY SKELETONIZED, THOUGH SOME CLOTHING WAS RECOVERABLE. HE IS ESTIMATED TO BE OF HISPANIC ORIGIN AND POSSIBLY AN UNDOCUMENTED WORKER. ... (CONT’D.)_

Investigator: _CARTER_

Deputy Medical Examiner: _DR. MUÑEZ_

Cause A: _GUNSHOT WOUND TO HEAD_

Cause B: _N/A_

Cause C: _N/A_

Cause D: _N/A_

Other Significant Conditions: _N/A_

Authenticated: _MARY PACHECO_ Date: _07/29/13 (JULY)_

** County of New York, Department of Coroner **

** Investigator’s Narrative **

_ Case Number: 2011-77925 _

_ Decedent: DOE, JOHN #117 _

Investigation

On 06/12/13 at approximately 08:32 hours, a call was received from Officer Braden #20618 with NYPD, reporting the discovery of skeletal remains found by a member of the public in a drainage ditch. Assigned to the investigation by Lieutenant Chen, I arrived on the scene at 09:01 and departed at 12:25.

Location

Street: Wet Marsh Lne., s/o Waverly Ave., Outergate, New York 20075

Informant/Witness Statements

In speaking with Detectives Brown and Carer, the following information was learned: On the early morning of 06/12/13 at approximately 0748 hours, a roadworks employee arrived to begin filling in potholes at the above-indicated location, whereby he noticed the decedent in the ditch. The employee drove to the nearest residence and a call to 911 was placed. Officer Braden arrived on the scene at 0829 hours and pronounced the decedent at the scene at 0831 hours. Decedent had gone through all five stages of decomposition and the bones had begun to bleach in the sun. Officer Braden observed that the decedent was face-down in the ditch and the skull appeared severely damaged from some form of trauma. Decedent’s clothes were in remarkably good condition.

Scene Description

The scene was a road rarely-used and only accessible via the driveway shared with a residential home some ~600 yards away. Due to the positioning of the decedent, people passing through would not have noticed anything amiss, save if they were to stop, and look directly into the ditch. Tire marks were observed, trailing in a southeasterly direction and indicating some speed, though they are believed to be from the vehicle owned by the employee who initially discovered the decedent.

Evidence

None.

Body Examination

Decedent was observed lying face-down inside the ditch, with one arm underneath his body and the other down at his side. He was partially-submerged in water and thus decomposition would’ve been accelerated. During extrication, I noted that decedent had been laying atop several pieces of broken glass, likely from an alcohol bottle.

Once extricated, which took approximately 40 minutes, decedent was then placed onto a sheet of plastic beside the ditch. He was skeletal and unidentifiable; sun damage to the bones was observed mostly on any parts that had not been submerged in the water. 

His clothing remained in relatively good condition, with decedent appearing to have worn a black long-sleeved shirt, black pants, with thick grey socks - one sock had been destroyed to where the bones of the foot were visible. An obvious major trauma was observed to the back of the skull, with several fragments being missing. No soft tissue was found on the body, though several strands of dark hair were observed on the inside of the decedent’s shirt. Due to the body condition, no identification could be made at the scene, and decedent was of unknown sex.

Identification

Due to the condition of the body, decedent was unidentifiable. He is believed to be around ~25 years of age and of Hispanic/Latin American origin.

Next of Kin Notification

Due to the status of the decedent’s case, no next has kin has been found.

Tissue Donation

Not a viable candidate - body condition.

Autopsy Notification

On-going.

**Authenticated: MARY PACHECO**

**Date: 07/29/13 (JULY)**

* * *

Autopsy Report

I performed an autopsy on the body of JOHN DOE #117 at the DEPARTMENT OF CORONER on 07/11/12 @ 0800 HOURS.

From the anatomic findings and pertinent history, I ascribe the death to:

(A) GUNSHOT WOUND TO HEAD

(B) N/A

(C) N/A

(D) N/A

(Other conditions contributing to, but not related to the immediate cause of death) N/A

Anatomical Summary

Presumed 25-year-old Hispanic/Latin American male shot in the head. Pronounced dead at the scene.

Fully-skeletal remains; massive parietal bone skull fractures with protrusion of the occipital bone into the cranial vault.

Hemorrhagic fractures of the right anterior 3rd  through 6th  ribs post-mortem.

Description

The body is that of a presumed-Hispanic male that is fully-skeletal. The rate of decomposition was increased by the semi-submersion of the decedent. There are several identifying scars visible on the bones, with the most notable being down the visible left side of the decedent’s face. This would have been quite prominently visible on his skin. The clothing with the body is consisting of a black long-sleeved shirt, with only the back half available as the front was destroyed by the water, black pants, which have held up remarkably well in the elements. Also some heavy winter socks, the left of which is only preserved under the leg of the decedent’s pants.

I was able to recover several strands of hair from the inside of the decedent’s shirt collar. 

There is extreme damage to the back of the body’s head. The skull is caved in on the left side, with several fragments not yet recovered from the scene. The eyes and tongue are completely gone. The native teeth are present in the oral cavity but offer no sign of visible dental work, despite being in good condition. Four ribs on the anterior right side are broken.

Primary Incision

No Y-shaped incision is needed, as the body has decomposed past the soft tissue stage. The rib cage shows inwardly displaced hemorrhagic fractures of the right anterior 3rd through 6th  ribs. No other bone fractures are observed.

Cardiovascular System

N/A

Respiratory System

N/A

Gastrointestinal System

N/A

Hepatobiliary System

N/A

Urinary System

N/A

Genital System

N/A

Hematopoietic System

N/A

Endocrine System

N/A

Central Nervous System

There is an open fracture to the parietal bone, with protrusion of the occipital bone into the cranial vault. Significant damage would have been done to the brain at the time of death, with severe potential blood in the cranial cavity or dura mater, as well as subdural and parenchymal brain hemorrhaging.

Musculoskeletal System

There is an open fracture of the rear skull and displaced fractures of the right anterior hemorrhagic 3rd  through 6th  ribs.

Toxicology

I was unable to collect blood, bile, liver, or brain tissue due to the advanced stage of decomposition.

Histology

N/A

Witnesses

None.

Opinion

The cause of death was a single gunshot wound to the skull. Either before or after death, the decedent was beaten severely enough to break four ribs, and, after the skull trauma, death was very rapid, likely within seconds. Loss of consciousness was nearly instantaneous upon the bullet entering the skull. Due to the level of decomposition, I estimate the date of death to be anywhere between 01/01/11 and 01/01/13. I am listing the cause of death to be that of homicide.

Body Status

Pending.

* * *

**October 1** **st** **, 2014**

**(FIVE YEARS AGO)**

Being dead is a strange feeling.

There are many things Ben has wondered about in the eleven-odd years he’s been trailing after his brother, and one of them has always had him stumped. He thinks to himself ‘what would life feel like if I were alive?’ Would he love the heat of the sun of his skin, or crave the arrival of winter’s first snow? Would he enjoy every moment or would he waste it away like Klaus? Would he be as he is now, sarcastic yet tired, forced to watch as his brother ruins his body over and over again, powerless to stop it? Or would he be far away like Allison, living his own life without ever thinking of his siblings?

These thoughts come to his often, especially when Klaus is sleeping and Ben is alone with his thoughts, but never more often than they do on October 1 st \- their birthday.

It’s an interesting sensation, being dead and knowing you’re a year older. His body only looks as old as Klaus imagines it to be, they’d decided that when he hit his growth spurt age seventeen and Ben had suddenly shot-up to join him overnight. Still, Ben knows there’s a difference between time passing chronologically and being _older._ He can’t experience life like the others - he’s never had his first kiss, gone to college, attended a party as an invited guest, gotten a job, found his own sense of fashion...Seventeen-year-old Ben had barely even started puberty when he died, for god’s sake. That’s got to have fucked with his head somewhat.

Currently, Ben’s watching a fly bounce itself repeatedly into a closed window. It’s not exactly thrilling entertainment, but Klaus is busy and he’s already gotten enough looks of his brother’s naked body to last him several lifetimes. He can go further afoot, of course, but what’s he going to do? Spy on the neighbors? That seems...disrespectful and creepy, even if Ben won’t do anything with the information he finds out. He’s not sure _he’d_ like some dead guy standing over his shoulder whilst he watched TV, even if it was harmless in the long run. It was the principle of things, after all.

He feels bad for the fly. It doesn’t understand that were it to move just a few yards down there is a perfectly good open window for it to escape via. The same one it came in through in the first place, actually. It has no idea that, if it doesn’t find a way out soon, it will die, as bugs have no concept of death. Ben certainly hadn’t, not really, as a kid. Even when he woke up, dazed, and confused at his own funeral, he’d just followed Klaus’ lead. If Klaus wasn’t sad, why should Ben be?

But now...now he understands. He knows that Klaus, despite being able to communicate with the dead, despite being tortured by their very existence, is not able to comprehend what it’s like to long desperately for the touch of another human, to want to feel the wind in your hair, the sensation of falling asleep, to remember the taste of your favorite food. Ben remembers, Ben wants, Ben longs. Over the years, he’s done basically nothing but envy his brother, who can so carelessly throw his own life away while Ben has none to speak of. His existence is merely to keep Klaus company and, though this is a nice thing, a good brotherly gesture to make, Ben wants more. He wants his own friends, his own life, his own choices to matter. He wants to _live._

Vanya’s recently-published book had only reinforced that. She’d spoken kindly of him, as kindly as a tell-all book can be, but Ben had hated it all the same. Klaus had read it aloud to his AA group, Ben hunched over his chair in disbelief. He’d been impressed with his sister’s gumption, but not her method of working through trauma.

His favorite paragraph - ‘In the end, after our brother Ben had died, there was really nothing connecting us. We were just strangers living under the same roof; destined to be alone, starved for attention, damaged by our upbringing, and haunted by what might have been.’ - was a harsh reminder of how they’d regarded each other. Ben, perhaps just a naïve seventeen-year-old, had looked at his brothers and sisters and seen just that - a family. Big and dysfunctional, cobbled together from spare parts, but good all the same. To hear Vanya talk about his death as a catalyst for the others to just...stop being family...well. Ben had said a few choice words. To main ones being: _‘how could she do this to us all?’_

It’s been three months now since the unfortunate literary incident died down, and Ben has wondered how the others took it. Allison, now a big Hollywood star, had likely been embarrassed, probably hounded at every interview she went to about what Vanya said. Luther had...probably not even read it. Ben knows he’s still at home, still under Dad’s thumb, and so may not even know Vanya’s book exists. And Diego would be furious; his hot-headed brother had likely used the dust jacket as target practice.

Ben laughs at the thought. The filthy motel hallway is empty, but he doesn’t mind. He’s pretty good at amusing himself when Klaus isn’t around to do it for him.

He gets to his feet and spares a glance for the door Klaus and... _Andre_ had disappeared through. He’d seemed harmless enough and it’s not like Ben could do anything if he was the sort to get a bit pushy in bed. He’s seen too many of those situations involving Klaus to want to experience another.

Maybe he could head out for himself for a while. Only a few hours. He’s not sure Klaus would even notice at this point; his brother tends to stay pretty occupied with his night hook-ups.

“I’ll be back before he even realizes,” he tells himself. Mind made up, Ben walks outside and surveys the dark night sky. It’s late, close to 3 am now, so it’s not like many law-abiding folks will be awake, and there are no movies on he can go see, no people-watching potential.

Ben wanders for some time.

He watches a fox dart across the street, a group of teenagers sneak out onto their fire escape to drink alcohol, a homeless guy throwing up in a dumpster. The list goes on. All of these things are more interesting than the plight of his fly friend, sure, but they're not enough to be worth sticking around for. Worth leaving Klaus alone where anything could happen.  Ben is in the process of retracing his steps back to the motel room when he hears the voice. It's _the_ voice because it sounds familiar enough to make him stop in his tracks.

“The nerve of her! A - a fucking _memoir?_ What did we do to deserve that?”

Ben looks around. There’s a TV store on the other side of the street that has their set-ups playing 24/7 in the front window, casting bright lights on the sidewalk and street. A man dressed in all-black is standing there, hands in his pockets.  Ben watches him cautiously. Being at Klaus’ side has gotten him used to the presence of other ghosts, but he still doesn’t like them. They’re loud and often violent, no recognition in their glazed-over eyes. They give him the heebie-jeebies, so he’s perfectly content with quietly sneaking past this guy and finding his way back to Klaus.  The TV, he notices curiously, is running a late-night news story from months ago. It’s sad Vanya’s face, from the dust jacket of her book, and, though there is no sound, Ben can see the excerpt from the first chapter being blown up to a readable size on the TV screen.

He stops a few feet behind the ghost. Why would some dead man care about Vanya’s book?

“Stupid Vanya,” says the ghost, kicking the store wall. His foot goes straight through it, but he doesn't seem to notice. “You better _hope_ I never get my hands on you...”

The ghost turns and his face is deathly familiar. Ben's dead heart stops.  _“Diego?”_ he gasps without even thinking about it.

His brother jumps, hands flying up into protective fists and he turns to face Ben in the dark street. Their eyes meet, brown on brown. “Ben?”

Ben’s mind goes through several thoughts in quick succession and comes to only one conclusion.

_ #1 - Diego can see him. _

_ #2 - Ben is a ghost. _

_ #3 - Only Klaus’s powers allow him to see ghosts. _

_ #4 - But ghosts can see other ghosts. _

_ #5 - Diego must be a ghost. _

_ #6 - To be a ghost, one must be dead. _

_ #7 - Diego is dead. _

“What...” He manages, as soon as his brain is back online. “What happened? Are...are you...?”

“Dead?” Diego asks, nodding ruefully. “Yeah. Three years now.”

Ben can barely get his mouth to function. Three _years?_ “But Klaus ran into you not too long ago! He kept wondering if you were mad with him because he said you ran off pretty fast afterward and you never took him up on his offer to hang...out...” _Oh._ Ben's face creases with sadness. _Oh, Diego._

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Shaking his head, Ben can feel tears forming in his eyes. His brother has been dead for three years and he didn’t notice? Didn’t feel the change in the universe? “I don’t care about that. Diego, what _happened?_ I thought you were in college.” I thought you were getting your life on track, showing Dad how wrong he was about them all. Living the life Ben couldn't.

Diego laughs. “I got expelled. Fighting with another student, who...turned out to be the dean’s son, actually. He didn’t take too kindly to that, so they booted me off campus straight away. I...after that, I went out, you know, tried to take down some shady guys with violent rap-sheets. Relive the glory days and all that."

Ben can picture it all too well. “And they got the better of you?” He looks his brother over for injuries, but there are none. None that are visible, at any rate. He looks young, too, like he hasn’t aged since the day he died. That makes sense, because, without Klaus to keep Diego's body changing as he does for Ben, the man will stay eternally twenty-one. It's a sad thought, one Ben wants to rectify immediately.

“Nah. Ran into some crazy Umbrella Academy fan,” Diego shrugs, all casual-like about his own murder. He turns and Ben can see the gleam of blood in his hair, barely visible against his dark hair. “Blew my brains out.” The image that paints...

“Diego,” Ben says, soft and sweet. “Can I -"

“Come here." Diego opens his arms welcomingly.

Ben throws himself forward. They meet in the middle and cling to one another, truly desperate for human touch after all these years. Diego’s skin is cool and his chest doesn’t move with his breathing, but Ben finds it familiar all the same. The overly-macho patting his brother does to his back, the faint smell of his clothes - leather and aftershave. It's all Diego to a T.

“I missed this,” Ben whispered. It had been _so long_ since he had a hug - since he had touched another human being. “Diego, I’m not glad you’re dead, of course, but...I am happy we can see each other. I’ve missed you so much. All of you. I'm sorry I left like that."

“I’ve missed you too, man,” Diego says gruffly. "But you don't have anything to apologize for." They pull back and Diego cups his cheeks, ruffles his hair. “You’re looking good for a dead guy.” 

“Klaus’ kept me busy,” Ben explains, rolling his eyes and slaps his brother's prodding hands away. “Being around him for so long...I think his powers have kept me aging too."

Diego looks down at himself, dressed head-to-toe in black, much like Ben, but very likely wearing the same clothes he’d died in. “I could do with some of that. I’m sick of wearing the same damn thing. I'd kill for a shower right now.”

Ben agrees. A shower sounds like heaven...better than heaven, in fact, given that he’s been putting off going _there_ for eleven years now. “I don’t think he could help much with that, but I’m sure he’d be glad to see you either way. We can hang out again, just like old times." The Even Number Gang, they used to call themselves. Five would always get so irritated about being left out, though, of course, he'd deny it. Ben smiles at the memory of the tricks he'd pull on them, all in the name of revenge. As much as Vanya had denied it in her book, there had been good times in their childhood too. They _had_ been a real family, no matter what she said.

Diego falters. “Ben...”

“The motel isn’t far,” Ben says eagerly. “He’s busy, but we have a codeword I can use if something big happens and I'm pretty sure this counts as big. You can wait outside while I fetch Klaus and then we can explain what happened together. And - and we need to tell the others, of course! Vanya, Allison, Luther...I bet if we write down what you remember, they can help find the asshole who did this -" '- _and kill him,'_ he thinks hopefully.

“Ben!” Diego shakes him; he’s frowning, sad-eyed and glum. “We’re not telling Klaus and we’re _definitely_ not telling the others.”

_What?_ “What?”

“It’s my decision.”

“Well, yes, but _why?_ Why do you want to keep this a secret?” Ben implores, trying to get him to see reason. If they can’t tell Klaus, then...then... “You’re not coming with me.” It’s a statement, not a question. His heart sinks with disappointment.

Diego sighs. “I can’t. It’s - it’s hard to explain, but -"

“It’s not hard!” Ben takes a step back, throwing his arms up. He feels that familiar roiling in his stomach and he presses a hand to his bellybutton, willing the Horror to calm down. He can’t afford to let them gain control right now. “You don’t have to be _embarrassed_ about this, Diego. Nobody will blame you for what happened.”

“I blame myself!” Diego yells, cutting his off. “This shit is all on me, Ben! _I_ was the one stupid enough to get in over my head and where did it get me? Rotting in some ditch off the highway.”

Ben shudders at the thought. “Don’t say that...”

Diego’s voice is softer when he continues, but no less sure. Ben can already tell he won’t be able to change his brother’s mind. “I can’t burden everyone with this,” he says, bowing his head. “We need to let them live their lives.”

“But Klaus can see you!” Ben pleads. If Diego won’t tell their her siblings, then fine, but Klaus would give him someone else to talk to; a way to interact with the outside world like Ben can. “It can be just us three, I promise! You, me, Klaus -"

“No, Ben,” Diego says firmly. “No. It’s you and Klaus together, and me on my own.” He jabs his finger in Ben’s face, stern-faced. “It's my decision. If I find out you told anyone -"

“I wouldn’t,” Ben cuts him off, hurt at the implication. “Even if I don’t agree with you, I’d never go behind your back like that, Diego. You’re my brother.” He lets himself imagine how this will go and it doesn’t paint a pretty picture. Diego doesn't have the greatest plans. “You’re really going to keep this from them, go through all this trouble, just because you don’t want to be a bother?”

“I...” Diego says, eyes glazing over a little as he loses himself in thought. He shakes his head after a moment and then nods. “Yes, this is the way it _has_ to be. I’ve made my decision, Ben.”

Ben looks up the street. The sun is starting to rise and Klaus will be waking up soon; he’ll get upset if Ben isn’t there, so he knows he should get back to the motel before Klaus starts to worry. “Then...I should be going.” _Please change your mind,_ he thinks desperately. He already knows it's a fool errand, though. Diego is the most stubborn of them all, nothing could change his mind once he'd decided to do something, even if it did come back to bite him on the ass.

“Me too,” Diego says, stepping back reluctantly. He half-fazes through the window of the TV store, but Ben doubts he’s even noticed. “Look out for Klaus for me.”

“Of course I will,” Ben says. He turns to go, heart aching. “...Bye, Diego.”

Diego nods. “See you 'round, Ben.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me every step of the way, so I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Today, we find out some backstory regarding Ben and Diego, as well as find out that Diego's body was found way back in 2013! The only problem is...it hasn't been identified yet :(
> 
> Please drop a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry there's going to be a few more days between chapters, as I've gone back to work. I just wanted to say thank you for all your amazing comments, too! <3

* * *

Diego stops in the doorway of the kitchen. Mom, looking as beautiful as ever in an old-fashioned pink skirt with black polka dots, is frying eggs and bacon at the stove, humming serenely. Conversely, Luther and Allison are watching her from the table with their shoulders up around their ears. It’s an odd sight, one that immediately puts his hackles up.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, suspicious. “She’s sensitive at the moment, so you idiots better not start bothering her -"

“Mom?” Luther asks. “We need to ask you some questions about the night Dad died.” He’s bouncing his leg under the table nervously. Allison’s twirling her fork too. “Do you remember anything?”

“Oh no,” Diego says, holding his hands up. “No, no, no - no way.” Mom turns, looking lost and confused. Diego’s heart cracks at the sight. It’s so rare to see Mom upset, to see her, unlike her sunny, smiley self, that he wants to knock Luther and Allison’s heads together to get them to shut up.

“Of course,” she says softly. “Sunset, 7:33pm. Moon was waxing crescent, dinner was Cornish hen, wild rice, and carrots.”

“No,” snaps Luther. Diego’s hands ball into fists. This piece of shit - “No...uh, later that night. In his bedroom. Did...did you go and see him?”

Mom stares, blinking in confusion. Then she smiles cheerfully as if all evil thoughts had just fallen from her mind. Diego grits his teeth at that; Dad had really messed her up. “I don’t recall.” She turns back to the stove, humming.

Luther looks at Allison, gesturing silently. Allison rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t tell him off either. Diego holds her just as accountable. How could she ever think Mom would do something to hurt someone? Mom, who cared for them for years with a smile on her face, who was the only bright spot of happiness in this bleak, awful building.

“Were you ever...I don’t know, angry with Dad?”

“What the hell are you implying?” Diego asks his siblings as he stands, hands on his hips, protectively beside their mother. “You think...what, she had something to do with his death? Thinking shit of me, I get, but _Mom?_ What is _wrong_ with you, Luther?” Being stuck up on that moon must’ve messed with his head more than Diego had initially thought...

The spatula that Mom’s holding scrapes loudly on the frying pan. “Your father was a good man.” She looks at them, smiling and shaking her head. “A kind man. He was very good to me.”

“Don’t let them bother you,” Diego mutters, wanting to comfort her, to hold her hand, feel the familiar warmth of her skin. He doesn’t care if it’s _‘artificial’_ or not - she’s his mom. He doesn’t care about what the others think; Diego knows Mom can think for herself, can _feel_ things. “Luther’s projecting his own issues onto us.”

“Yes, but after we all left, it must have been difficult...?” Allison asks.

“Oh, there were days! You kids kept me oh so busy, and then...” Her smile slips away as she trails off. Diego’s heart rate picks up.

“Mom?” he calls uncertainly. “You okay?” He reaches out instinctively to touch her arm. His fingers go straight through her, and Diego jerks back, feeling stupid in front of his siblings, even though they can’t actually see him.

Luther’s eyes go wide. “What?” he asks, but Mom’s already nodding, her smile back in place. Her eyes look pained, though.

“Mom, what were you gonna say?” pushes Allison, and Diego glares at her.

“Drop it, Allison! Can’t you see you’re hurting her!?”

Beaming, Mom shakes her head. “Eggs are ready!” She plates them up as Luther and Allison share a solemn look. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Two plates, with two eggs and a slice of bacon shaped into a smiley face, are placed in front of the pair. Diego’s chest burns with envy. What he wouldn’t do to have one last taste of his mom’s cooking... “Now, eat up. Both of you.”

And, humming, Mom stacks the washing up in the sink and leaves the room, off to prep the laundry before she returns to collect their empty plates. Diego looks between her retreating back and his siblings, torn.

“You better drop this shit,” he warns them. “Mom had _nothing_ to do with this. Think whatever you want of me, Luther, but she hasn’t done anything but look after your stupid ass all these years.”

“Luther...” cautions Allison, but Luther’s already shaking his head, looking decided on the situation already. Diego can see he’s already scheming.

“I don’t like this any more than you do, but she’s hiding something.”

“Hiding? To me, she just sounded confused,” Allison says.

“Well, uh...you saw the tape!” Luther argues. “Grace knew what she was doing?”

Diego gapes, shocked at his brother's audacity. _“Grace?”_ he asks dangerously. “You did _not_ just -"

“Grace?” Allison echoes, folding her arms. “This morning, she was 'Mom'.”

“She’s a machine, Allison,” Luther says, serious as all hell; the awful thing is, Diego can tell he means it. He really does see Mom as - as just a _thing._ No better than the TV or the radio; useful for a purpose, but with no emotions behind it. Maybe he feels terrible about it, but that doesn’t change a thing. Diego shakes his head, disbelieving at his brother’s nerve.

Allison’s not happy about the reaction, either. “Who read to us, and cleaned up after us, and put us to bed! And then we left her here, alone, in this house for thirteen years.”

_“I_ never left her,” Diego says, though he knows that’s not true. He _did_ leave Mom, that’s the thing. For twelve years. Stuck with just Dad and Luther that long...it must fuck with a person’s head. It makes sense Mom is acting like her old self, but somehow Luther can’t see that? Can’t see that they’re at fault and not Mom?

Allison scoffs. “I mean, no wonder she lost her mind. To be away from your kids?” She shakes her head, misty-eyed. Diego can see the switch in her brain, the moment she’d stopped talking about Mom and started talking about herself. He’s disappointed but not surprised. In this family, the only thing people care about is themselves. They’re selfish above all else.

Luther catches on too. “Hey, what happened with...Claire? With Patrick? You never told me.”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Irritated, Diego throws his hands up. “We _should_ be talking about Mom!” But he already knows they’ve moved on from that. It’s about Allison and Luther again, about their fucked up relationship...or whatever they want to call it. “And you’re not gonna mention what happened earlier? With Dora at the station?” What’s Luther up to, huh? Why is he keeping the others out of the loop about Diego’s whereabouts?

“It’s just...when we were kids, we used to sit in here and tell each other everything.”

“Yeah, and then we grew up,” Allison says, but Luther just looks at her, sad expression firmly in place, and she gives in. “Things got ugly between Patrick and me. Now the court says I have to do this mandatory therapy thing before I can have visitation.”

“What for?”

Allison looks away in shame.

“Holy shit,” Diego realizes.

“You used your power on her,” Luther whispers, wide-eyed.

“I mean, there were days where she’d have these epic meltdowns. And no matter what I said, she wouldn’t stop. She was three then, and I...I know that’s what three-year-olds are supposed to do. So I said I would do it that one time. Only...it wasn’t just that _one time.”_ She sniffs, her voice cracking. “I told myself...any parent with my power would do the same. That it wasn’t wrong. I just had an advantage. I mean, from the time I was little, I used it to get everything I wanted.”

“Damn right,” Diego says as a chill goes up his spine. He _doesn’t_ want to think about that.

“With Dad, with you guys, with my career...” She sighs. Diego watches as Allison closes her eyes in self-disgust. He can’t feel sorry for her, though, not after what she’s done. “But now I know _nothing_ in my life was real. So, I’m starting over. I just...didn’t think it would be so hard.”

“It’ll get easier,” Luther says optimistically. Diego shakes his head at that. His brother gets on his nerves big time, having the audacity to, on the one hand, be so upbeat with Allison, and then on the other be 100% convinced Diego had murdered their father out of...what, resentment? If he and Ben have figured it out correctly, Vanya might be the woman behind it all. She’s deluded herself into believing she has more to be resentful about then the rest of them all combined. “Some things just take time.”

“Yeah. And some things just stay broken.”

They sit, silent, for a few moments. The refrigerator buzzes faintly.

Luther looks up. “What did you mean?”

Allison glances up from her lap. “Hm?”

“What did you mean? You said...you said you used your powers on us. So. I was just wondering when.”

Diego laughs, shaking his head. _“Jesus Christ.”_

“I...” Allison says, barely looking at him. “I don’t...really remember. I guess it was just hyperbole, Luther.” She picks at her nails.

Luther stares at her for a minute. At first, Diego thinks he’s going to call her out on it, going to say _‘hey, where’s Diego, Allison?’,_ but he eventually just nods. “Right. Of course. You’d never do that.”

* * *

Klaus is in the garden, wearing the same clothes as yesterday and smoking a cigarette. He’s crossed-legged on the wet leaves, staring up at Ben’s statue as it gleams in the moody mid-day sun. Ben himself is pointedly not around.

Diego stands off to the side for a while, uncertain. Should he do it? Is now the best time? Maybe Ben had been right; he should’ve just gotten this out of the way years ago. If he had, he wouldn’t be in this situation right now...

“Hey,” he says.

Klaus jumps, looking over at him with wide-eyes. He relaxes as soon as he sees Diego, though, laughing. “You scared me! I thought you were a nasty little ghosty, Diego.”

“Ha,” Diego says. “Yeah...” He shuffles his feet in the leaves. “Listen, man, can we talk?”

“Sure thing,” Klaus says, taking another drag of his cigarette. “What’s the long face for, mein bruder?”

“Those things’ll kill you, Klaus,” Diego points out, instead of answering the question. “We don’t need another funeral so close to the last.” He walks over and sits on the ground too. He doesn’t feel the wet leaves, though, not like he should. He hopes Klaus doesn’t notice that. He also hopes he doesn't see how the wind fails to ruffle his hair or clothes.

Klaus smiles. “You make jokes now? I never thought I’d see the day...Has all the miserableness in the air got you in the mood? Is that what we’ve been missing all these years to make Diego Hargreeves smile? A nice funeral?” He looks up at Ben’s statue. “Guess you didn’t make the cut, Benny boy.”

“Jesus, Klaus,” Diego sighs. “Try to be serious for once in your life.”

“Sorry,” Klaus says, looking not very sorry at all. “But it’s nice to see you, D. Really. You missed the big family meeting we had yesterday.”

“Yeah, I’ve...I’ve been busy. Heard Luther’s got it in for me, though.”

“Doesn’t he always?” Klaus asks. He peers at Diego shrewdly. _“Did_ you kill Dad? I wouldn’t blame you if you did, man, but maybe you should tell me in case he turns up all angry and takes it out on me. I can point him in your direction if that’s the case.”

Diego rolls his eyes. “I didn’t kill anyone. Dad died of a heart attack. Luther’s just a paranoid bastard.”

“Oh,” Klaus says, looking disappointed. “I was still kinda hoping you’d given him the send-off he deserved, but I guess it can’t be helped. Have you talked to Luther about this then? He’s _really_ got it into his head that you’re all evil now.”

“I’ll deal with Luther later. I have bigger things to worry about than that delusional idiot.”

They sit, listening to the wind and staring up at Ben’s statue for what feels like hours, but has probably only been five or ten minutes. Klaus finishes his cigarette and tosses it onto the leaves, stomping it out with his boot.

“What did you want to talk about?” Klaus finally asks. “You’re not coming out to me, are you?”

_“What?”_

“Only, the last person who said ‘can we talk?’ to my face ended up saying he was a big fat homo and smooching me, _sooo_ there is some precedent.”

“What?!” Diego repeats. “I - _no!_ That’s disgusting! You’re my _brother!”_

Klaus holds his hands up defensively. “That never stopped Luther and Allison, is all I’m saying. I’m just making sure we’re on the same page. If you _were_ coming out to me, then I’d say that it’s very brave -"

“I’m not coming out!” Diego yells, throwing his hands up in the air. “Would you _please_ quit talking?”

“Okay, okay, okay. Jeez. I was just trying to be a supportive brother.”

“I don’t need coaching about my sexuality, Klaus,” Diego says firmly. “I know where I stand in that department.”

“And you’re _fully_ straight?” Klaus asks, frowning in disappointment. “Because, out of the seven of us, surely more than just me has to be something more exciting than standard penis-in-vagina boring -"

Diego claps his hand over his eyes, groaning at that imagery. He doesn’t want to think about his brother in that context, thank you very much. “Oh my God, would you shut up? Why were you even thinking about that?”

“It comes up sometimes. And, besides, you never answered my question -"

“Look,” Diego says. “To get you to stop talking about this - no, I’m not straight. _You’re_ not straight, and Vanya’s _certainly_ isn’t. That’s at least three out of seven, right? Happy now?”

“Vanya?” Klaus repeats in consideration, tapping his chin. “Okay, I see that, but there’s no way _you,_ Diego Hargreeves, denier of all emotion, would be a bottom. It’s not possible.”

Diego sighs, feeling very much like he wants to die right now. _Again._ “Klaus. I will never, even on fear of death, be telling you about my sex life. Drop it.”

“You’re no fun,” Klaus pouts, folding his arms. “Want to hear about mine?”

“No!” He bursts. “No, let’s stop talking _right now._ I don’t want to hear about the sex life of anyone who shares the same surname as us. Not Luther, not Vanya, not Allison, not _you,_ and definitely not Five.” Klaus opens his mouth. “Not Dad, either.”

“Pogo?” Klaus asks, hopeful. “I’m sure his sex life is -"

_“No,_ Klaus. Not Pogo either.” Diego is re-thinking his whole idea to tell Klaus the truth. Maybe it’s better he just leaves and never comes back. At least then, he wouldn’t have to hear the words ‘sex life’ and ‘Pogo’ in the same sentence ever again. “Can we get back on topic?”

“Eh, sure. What’s happening then? If you’re not coming out to me, what could put such a sad little frown on your face?”

“I need to tell you something,” Diego says seriously. “You can’t overreact, though. Don’t start crying, Klaus. I don’t want to tell the others yet.”

Klaus is starting to look nervous now. “What is it? Is it about Dad?”

“No,” Diego says. “It’s about me. I...I’m not sure how to say it.”

“Take - take your time, man.” Klaus reaches out like he’s about to pat Diego on the knee or something, so Diego jerks away. He just doesn’t want his brother’s hand to go right through him, but Klaus takes it the wrong way, his face crumpling with hurt. “Sorry.”

“No,” Diego says again. “It’s not you. I...okay.” He stands up, gestures to himself. “What do you see?”

Klaus looks him up and down carefully. Diego is secretly touched by the care he takes in doing so, looking for any sign that something might be wrong or different. “I see...a lot of black. You’ve always worn that, though.”

“What else?” Diego presses.

“You’re not wearing your knives?” Klaus asks hesitantly. “Is that it? Is it something to do with your power?”

“Yes,” Diego says and then: “No. It’s...I can’t say.”

“You can’t say,” Klaus repeats. “I’m...not sure I get it, Diego. Can’t you just tell me?”

Diego runs a hand through his hair. “I - I _can’t._ ” He looks over at the house, tapping his foot impatiently. “Have you spoken to Allison since yesterday?”

“Allison? Is something wrong with her?”

_Yes._ “No.”

“O-kaaay,” says Klaus. He looks tired, rubbing his knee in thought as he stares up at Diego with soft green eyes lined with smudged kohl. “I’m going to need more to get it, man. Can we play charades?”

“I don’t want to bother you,” Diego sighs. “Just forget it.” He turns back to the house, burning with self-hatred. Why is he being such an idiot? He doesn’t want to upset Klaus with this stuff. He should just keep it to himself...

“Wait,” Klaus calls, scrambling to his feet. “Diego -"

He reaches out plaintively, and his hand - _goes - right - through - Diego’s - shoulder -_

Diego spins around, heart in his throat. Klaus is holding his hand up, staring at it in confusion. “What?” he asks himself. He shakes his head. “What just happened?”

“Klaus,” Diego says. “Klaus -"

His brother, instead of listening, merely swipes at Diego again. This time, his hand goes through Diego’s stomach and swing harmlessly through the air to the side. He doesn’t even feel it, besides the faintest chill, like someone’s blowing on the back of his neck. Or walking over his grave.

“What the fuck?” Klaus whispers. “Diego -"

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Diego says. “I’m...Klaus, I -"

Klaus shakes his head, stumbling backward. He lands on his ass, close to hyperventilating, but Diego doesn’t dare move towards him. _“Find out?”_

“I - yeah.” He hadn’t wanted to tell Klaus like this, for him to just stumble across the fact while trying to grab him. That’s why he’d put himself at such a distance from his siblings, to diminish the risk of one of them trying to touch him. “It’s hard to explain but -"

“You’re...” Klaus trails off. He looks sick, his cheeks tinted white, and eyes shimmering with a slow, dawning realization. “You’re a...”

“He finally told you?”

Diego jumps, but it’s nothing compared to what Klaus does. They both turn, heads on a swivel, to see Five stood beside Ben’s statue with his hands in his pockets. His gaze is mostly on Klaus, but occasionally his eyes dart across to the approximate area where Diego is standing.

“Five?” Klaus whispers. “What do you mean?”

“It is Diego that’s here, right?” Five asks. He turns towards Diego again and, in a way that’s simultaneously hilarious and really sad, his gaze is fixed at the height it would’ve been the last time he saw Diego. Thirteen-year-old Diego. “I wasn’t sure if he ever said anything, but I had a suspicion that he would’ve eventually.”

“You know?” Diego asks, gobsmacked. That swiftly transitions in anger. “You piece of shit - you knew all this time that I was here, and you didn’t care to _mention_ it?!”

Klaus looks at Diego. “He...knew.” He looks back at Five. “You knew?”

“Yes, Klaus,” Five says patiently. “I found out when I was in the apocalypse.”

“Oh,” says Klaus. “Right.”

Five frowns consideringly. “You’re taking this remarkably well. I expected some sort of blow-out.” He looks up at Ben. “You know. Like what happened in Vanya’s book.”

Vanya’s _book._ “Don’t talk to me about that thing,” Diego snaps, even though Five definitely can’t hear him. “I swear, if I ever hear a single one of you mention it again, I’ll go fucking poltergeist on your asses.”

“I’m assuming he’s speaking,” Five continues. “Klaus, would you be willing to translate? Time is of the essence, and I have a lot of questions about -"

Klaus leaps to his feet. “You’re DEAD?!” He points at Diego accusingly. “Why - how - but - you never _said_ anything!” He grabs a huge handful of his hair and tugs on it, at a loss for words. “How could you keep this a secret?”

“It’s a long story,” Diego awkwardly explains. He glances over at Five, but his brother is no help in this department. “I mean, none of us were in a very good place, relationship-wise, and it felt weird just blurting it out. Ben said -"

_“Ben_ knew?” Klaus whispers, hugging himself. “Am I the last one in the loop or something? Does - does everyone but me know? Oh, let’s just pull one over on ol’ Klaus, I’m sure it’ll be a barrel of laughs!”

Diego frowns, offended. “Of course not.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Klaus,” snaps Five. “I knew because of my time-travel experiences, and Ben knew because, obviously, he’s a ghost too. There’s no way Luther or Allison have been smart enough to figure it out.”

“Luther and Allison,” Klaus repeats. “Shit, we need to tell them!” He lurches towards the door, wobbly on his feet even though Diego knows he’s nearly 100% sober.

Five teleports in his way, arms folded. “Don’t even think about it, Klaus,” he orders. “I doubt they’ll believe you anyway.” He glances over towards Diego’s approximate location. “Did they believe you about Ben?”

“No,” says Klaus desperately. “But, we were kids then!”

“And now you’re a homeless addict,” Five says dispassionately. “Besides, you can’t tell them. I need to talk to Diego, and the only way I can do that is through you - if you start telling people, then they’ll want answers about what happened to him, and there’s no time for that.”

Diego scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”

“Of course, they’ll want answers!” Klaus cries. “I want them too!”

“Not yet,” says Five. He looks impatient now, like he’d rather be doing anything else. “Diego’s already dead, Klaus. We need to worry about saving the people still on this planet, okay?”

“Jesus. Glad to know you care, Five.”

“No,” Klaus says, stubborn as always, “No, no, _no_ \- “ He turns to Diego, takes a few stumbling steps closer. He leans in to peer at his face, and his lips part in shock. “Diego, you look...”

“Young?” Diego asks softly. He nods. “Yeah.”

“How long has it been? I - I can’t be sure about my memory of things these last few years. You know what you looked like.”

“I...think this should wait. Five is right - if he really means what he says about the apocalypse or whatever, then we should hear him out.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Klaus asks. He doesn’t dare try and touch Diego again, but he appears to be scanning him for any injuries. Diego doesn’t begrudge him the fact that he never noticed, as the blood from the bullet hole blended in exceptionally well against Diego’s dark hair.

Diego sighs. “It’s been a long time, Klaus. I’m tired.”

_“Klaus,”_ Five repeats crossly. “The others -"

“Would you stop!” Klaus yells, rounding on him. “God, Five, our brother is dead! Don’t you _get_ that? How can you be so cold about that!?”

Five’s lip curls. “Don’t talk to me like that,” he snaps. He pokes Klaus in the chest. _Hard._ “I’ve spent forty-five goddamn years trying to get back to save your ungrateful selves, and I won’t have you ruining that with your _emotions._ We can be sad about Diego later. Right now, I have to talk to him and find out what he knows about the eye.”

“Again with the eye.”

“Eye,” Diego repeats. “What eye? Klaus, what’s he talking about?”

Klaus shrugs. “Five found a fake eye in the future. He thinks -"

“I _know_ it’s the answer behind who started the apocalypse, and I also know that Diego can tell me who it belongs to.”

_“Me?_ Why me?” Diego asks, but Five doesn’t so much as blink in his direction. “Look. I get that you have a lot of questions, Klaus, but...maybe Five’s right. He seems pretty insistent about this whole thing -"

“Of course, he’s insistent!” Klaus protests. “He’s crazy!”

That must push Five over the edge, as he stomps his foot, says, “I’m going out,” and disappears in a flash of blue. Klaus rounds on Diego immediately.

“We should go after him,” Diego says.

“No,” says Klaus. _“You_ should explain what’s happening. Is...is it true? Are you really dead?” He sounds devastated.

“Yeah.”

“And Ben knew the whole time? You were laughing about it behind my back?”

“No,” Diego spits. “I wasn’t laughing about my own death, you idiot. I asked Ben not to tell anyone because I didn’t want to rock the boat. It looks like I was right.”

“Rock the boat? How could -"

_“Because you’d all moved on!”_ Diego bursts. His chest heaves. “You moved on. It...it doesn’t matter how, but you were all better off not knowing. Luther stayed here with Dad, Allison started a new family, Vanya...yeah. And you and Ben had each other.” He shrugs, as the hurt is old and scabbed over by now. “I guess I just knew I didn’t fit in there.”

“You idiot,” Klaus laughs. “How could you think we’d just, what, turn you away? Hanging with ghosts is sorta my whole schtick!”

“It wasn’t just about that. I...there’s other things going on that you don’t understand.”

Klaus groans in frustration. “So _tell me!_ I just want to _help you,_ Diego!”

Diego shakes his head, confident. “No. There’s only one person who can and...” She can’t. She won’t. He’s not sure which option it is, but that doesn’t matter.

“Klaus?” Vanya’s in the door to the garden. “Have you seen Five? Luther says he has something he wants to show us.”

* * *

The ‘something’ Luther got his hands on was apparently a tape. When Klaus, quiet and pensive, finally drags his feet to the sitting room, Pogo’s set up a VHS player by the couch. Luther’s pacing in front of it, Allison standing off to the side.

“About time,” Luther says. “Anyone seen Five?”

“I...think he left,” says Vanya cautiously.

Luther sighs. He hits play on the VHS player, and black and white security footage begins to play. Diego stands at Klaus' side, arms folded. They all watch as Mom stands, expression shadowed from view, over Dad as he died. The old man reaches up plaintively, but she doesn’t even twitch. Finally, she turns to the door and leaves.

Vanya shakes her head in disbelief. “I mean, do you really think Mom would hurt Dad?”

“You haven’t been home in a long time, Vanya,” Luther says, voice accusing. “Maybe you don’t know Grace anymore.”

“If he was poisoned, it would have shown in the coroner’s report,” Diego snaps. “And did it? No. Klaus, tell him.”

Klaus doesn’t say anything. He’s still staring blankly at the TV screen.

“Luther,” Allison says softly. “Mom -"

“Mom is a robot,” Luther reports. “She doesn’t have feelings or empathy. You can’t tell me you’re surprised she’s capable of this, Allison?”

“I...she’s our mother.”

“Klaus,” Diego barks. “Klaus, tell him to rewind it.”

His brother blinks and finally looks over at him. “Huh?”

“The tape. Rewind it back.”

“Do as he says, Klaus,” Ben says as he walks through the wall with the same book from earlier in his hand. He gives Diego a look as if to say _‘we’ll talk about this later’._

Klaus leans around Luther to press the rewind button.

“Hey!” Luther snaps. “Klaus, now isn’t the time for -"

“There,” Diego says quickly. “There, Klaus - tell them - see, Dad has his monocle. Mom stands up? Monocle’s gone.”

“His monocle,” Klaus repeats. He shakes his head. “Luther, look! Dad’s monocle! Mom took it.”

Luther makes them re-play it. He looks stunned.

“So Diego didn’t take it,” Allison mutters, looking ashamed. “And we thought he’d _poisoned_ him or something. She must’ve just been cleaning it.”

“Well, then where is it?” Luther asks. “No, I’ve searched the house, including all her things. She doesn’t have it.”

They all look at each other, at a loss for what to do now.

“Diego,” says Ben. “Did you know about this?”

“I had no clue. I wasn’t there when the old man kicked it.”

Allison frowns. “Well, if Mom took it, but now she doesn’t have it...who does?”

“Maybe our stupid theory about Vanya was right all along,” Diego wonders. He peers down into their sister’s face, studying her expression. All he can see is anxiety, maybe some sadness too. Sadness about Dad? Or sadness about the knowledge of what she’d done to him? “Did you kill Dad?”

Ben grabs his arm. “Diego, leave her alone. Vanya didn’t do anything.”

“What? How do you -"

He shushes Diego and gestures towards the doorway, where Pogo is leaning on his cane with a grave expression. “Perhaps I can explain.”

“Pogo?” Allison asks, confused. _“You_ know what happened to the monocle?”

“I took it from your mother,” Pogo admits. “As soon as I realized she had it.”

“You what?” gapes Luther. “But...why? How could you do that?”

“Shamefully, I saw your mother with it at the funeral. I took it from her only because I knew how quick you would all be to jump to conclusions.”

Allison gasps softly. “Pogo. How could you?”

Luther shakes his head. “No,” he says and then, louder: “Give it to me!” He takes a menacing step towards Pogo, and the elderly monkey winces away.

“I no longer have it.”

_“What?”_

“I...cannot tell you where I disposed of it, but rest assured -"

“Oh no,” says Ben, who’s hopped up onto the table to sit cross-legged.

“I’m not assured!” Luther rages. “Pogo, you tell me right now -"

“Hey. No. Calm down,” interjects Vanya, stepping between them. Diego is impressed with her nerve, actually. “Look, I know Dad wasn’t exactly an open book. But I do remember one thing he said. Mom was, well, designed to be a caretaker, but...also a protector.”

“What does that mean?” asks Allison. It appears they’re still at odds after their confrontation over the phone call with Allison’s ex-husband.

“She was programmed to intervene if someone’s life was in jeopardy.”

“Well, if her hardware is degrading...” Luther hesitates. “We need to turn her off.”

Diego’s blood turns cold. No. “Woah, woah, woah, woah, wait! She’s not just a vacuum cleaner you can throw in a closet! Klaus, tell her!”

“Luther,” Vanya says softly. “It’s...maybe we can fix her?”

“She feels things, I’ve seen it!” he yells, looking around at all of them. “She raised us! Does that mean _nothing_ to you guys?”

“She just stood there and watched our father _die,_ Vanya.”

Allison nods, looking unbothered. “I’m with Luther.”

“Oh, big surprise there!” Diego snarls.

Ben reaches for him. “Diego. I agree with you, but let’s hear them out.”

Vanya looks lost. “I - I don’t -" But Luther cuts her off as he turns to Klaus, who has yet to say a word about Pogo’s revelation.

“Klaus? What’s your vote?”

Klaus shakes himself out of his thoughts. “Me? Finally, someone’s asking for _my_ opinion? Oh, ‘get out of the van, Klaus!’ ‘Well, welcome back _to_ the van.’”

“What van?” asks Allison.

Luther scoffs, ignoring her. “What’s it gonna be, Klaus?”

“I’m with Vanya because screw you! And if Ben were here, he’d agree with me.”

“No, I don’t,” says Ben, and Klaus hisses at him.

“Ben?” Diego demands, betrayed at the brother he trusts most of all siding with Allison and _Luther_. “What the hell, man? You said you were on Mom’s side too!”

Ben shakes his head. “I am,” he replies, as calm as ever. “I just want to hear the full story. We don’t know why she did what she did, but I’m sure there’s a reason. We just need to find out what that is.”

“So that’s two against two,” says Luther. “It’s a tie.”

“Vote’s not final yet,” says Allison. “Five’s not here. The whole family has to vote. We owe each other that.”

“Right.”

“And Diego,” murmurs Vanya, but they’re already dispersing. Eventually, the only person left is Diego, as even Ben silently follows Klaus.

“That went well,” Diego mutters to himself. He turns, hands on his hips, and sees Mom standing off to the side in the shadows. His heart stutters. “Mom?”

He walks closer, lets his fingers barely brush her arm. Her face is sad, unlike her ever sees it, and she stares off into the distant, still as a statue.

“Mom?” Diego calls again, but she merely stands, frozen in time. Diego sighs. He’s not sure he stands there, watching her, but eventually, she does move, a smile appearing unnaturally on her face. “How much of that did you hear?”

“They’re gone,” she murmurs to herself.

"Don't listen to what they said,” Diego whispers, despite knowing she can’t hear him. “I’ve got your back, Mom, and I know y ou’re more than what Dad made you to be. You love us, and Dad could’ve _never_ programmed you to be that way...because he only loved himself.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs:
> 
> \- Angry boy Diego not being very kind to people  
> \- Dehumanization of Grace  
> \- Mention of abuse of a minor (Allison using her power on Claire, and Reginald being a shithead)  
> \- Drug use


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...hey! How ya'll doing? Sorry, this is so late :( I finished the first three scenes last week, but the last one had me struggling. So glad it's finished, though, and hope you enjoy it! The next chapter should be up sometime next week, but it's a doozy, so no promises. Stay safe, guys!
> 
> TWs are in the end notes, as always.

* * *

**March 26th** **, 2019**

By evening time, Diego is close to pacing out of his skin. He’s been anxious to see Five return home, since he’s clueless as to what his brother will vote about Mom, and the idea of Five saying ‘yes’ on the side of Luther and Allison...it doesn’t bear thinking about. He wishes, desperately, that he could talk to Mom, try and ask her about Dad and how she feels about him, but...that’s never going to be an option. After the blowout over the security tape, Ben and Klaus had refused to leave the latter’s room and Diego can tell he’s not wanted there. He knows they’re talking about him, anyway.

On the topic of Mom, it sometimes _has_ occurred to him that maybe she does only regurgitate what Dad programmed her to, but his mind always circles back to memories of his childhood, her warm hands on his shoulders, her voice coaxing him to just breathe and picture the words in his mind...and Dad, stood disapprovingly in the doorway. Why would he program her to help like that, only to then turn around and dislike her doing so? It made no sense and, thus, in Diego’s mind, that was something Mom had decided to do of her own free-will. And free-will? Yeah, that damn well meant you deserved to live.

“I have to talk to Klaus,” he mutters. “He can talk to Mom...get her to stand up for herself. She’ll explain that she hated Dad just as much as we do.” He’s sure of it.

A car door slams outside.

Diego stops in the middle of the entryway, eyeing the door. It’s dark outside, but he can see the silhouette of a figure through the frosted glass. What the hell? Since when did they have visitors?

There’s a loud hissing sound, like air escaping a sealed container, and another figure appears beside the first. Diego, truly alarmed now, considers making a run for Klaus’ room to warn him, but by the time he’s made up his mind, the doorknob goes flying, ejected from the handle like a bullet from a gun. It flies straight through Diego’s legs and bounces across the marble floor.

“Holy shit,” he cries, stunned. _“KLAUS!”_

The door creaks open and two people in suits enter. One, a black woman, is holding a shotgun, and the other, a huge white guy, has no visible weapons on him. Still, Diego feels a chill go up his spine. Whoever these people are, he can tell they’re dangerous.

They walk into the house, the tap of their shoes the only sound, and inspect the architecture. Diego follows, heart racing. He can’t die again, so he’s not scared for himself, but his family are in this house; _Mom,_ Klaus, Luther, Pogo, Allison, even Vanya. Despite them being at odds, he doesn’t really want to see any of them hurt.

Or worse.

“Cha-Cha,” calls the guy and what kind of name is that?

The lady, Cha-Cha, follows him into the sitting room and they stop and stare at the painting of Five over the mantle. “That’s our kid,” she says and _shit._ Why the hell are guys are after Five? “You think he’s home?”

“Does it matter? We don’t get paid enough either way.”

“Hazel,” Cha-Cha says, visibly annoyed. “Just get moving.”

Double shit. These guys are paid goons? That smacks of training and training means Mom, Pogo and Vanya wouldn’t stand a chance against them, even on a good day. He _has_ to find Klaus and tell him to warn the others before it’s too late.

Diego beats the pair downstairs to the wing where his siblings’ bedrooms are, but he doesn’t immediately see any of them lurking about. He runs straight through Allison’s room and into Klaus’, but his brothers are nowhere to be seen - knowing his luck, Klaus and Ben won’t even be at home. Fuck, fuck, what is he supposed to do?

“Klaus!” he hollers, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Klaus, where the hell are you!?”

The two assassins - because what else would they be? - head into Luther’s empty room. Hazel flicks idly through the military-neat record collection Diego’s brother keeps on his bookshelf, whilst Cha-Cha eyes the pair of boots discarded on the rug. Luther wears a size 18 and it shows.

“Somebody’s been eating his Wheaties.”

Diego, angry on Luther’s behalf at having his room rifled through by complete strangers, throws a punch that goes right through her face. It's somewhat satisfying, but nowhere near enough to make him want to stop. “Bitch.” Are they going to kill Five? Will the kid be able to defend himself? He's scrappy, sure, but these guys are obviously professionals. Does Five even stand a chance, especially if he's caught off-guard?

“You know,” Hazel mutters, picking up a figurine of Luther when he was a kid, “whatever I expected, it wasn’t...all this. Who the hell are these people?” He tosses the figurine back onto the deck and it bounces off to land on the floor, forgotten. Diego stares at it. He doesn’t like Luther, but the guy’s his brother. This is a violation of the highest order.

Cha-Cha nods. “Narcissists,” she decides succinctly. They head back out into the empty hallway, not a care in the world. “You see anyone but the kid, blow them to pieces, alright? We don’t want any of these freaks coming back for revenge and getting us a pay dock.”

“Stay the hell away from my family,” Diego snarls. He tails them back out into the hall and his heart stutters as soon as he sees where they’re heading. “Hey, don’t go in there!”

But Hazel is already trying the handle for Ben’s room, and the door swings open with a creak, the light from the hallway casting long, ghostly shadows on the unmade bed.

Not even Mom has stepped foot in here since the funeral. Dad hadn’t allowed it, and so the place had been left to gather dust. The curtains are still drawn from that early 2006 morning and there’s a layer of dust over everything. He can only watch as Hazel walks over to the bed and peers under it. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he calls, mockingly sing-song.

Ben, massive book-lover that he was, has three sets of shelves just for his favorites and there are more piled unevenly under the bed. All the fantasy and sci-fi novels he never got to finish. As violating as it had felt to see these strangers rooting around in Luther’s room, it’s even worse to see them doing so in Ben’s. Diego’s blood boils as he stands, unable to do anything but watch as Hazel and Cha-Cha rifle through his dead brother’s belongings.

“There’s nothing for us in here,” says Cha-Cha. “Let’s _go,_ Hazel.”

But even as she’s talking, they all hear the faint sound of a woman humming, of high-heeled shoes clicking out in the hall.

Diego has heard people speak of the feeling you get when your life flashes before your eyes. He had thought, maybe naïvely, that it happened right before death, before your heart stops and your...'soul’ leaves your body. But that hadn’t happened when Harold Jenkins put a bullet in his brain, nor had it happened any other time his life had been in peril. In fact, this very moment, his life is about as far as it can be from being endangered. He is, after all, already dead.

Still, he experiences something that can only be his life flashing by in brief snippets. His siblings, missions, Dora, that snowy alleyway, and -

_“Mom.”_

Diego barrels into the hallway, stumbling through Ben’s dresser and the wall behind it. Mom’s just exiting Five’s room, a pile of laundry balanced on one arm whilst she shuts the door with the other. “Mom, you need to go!” he yells, trying to grab her. But, of course, nothing happens. “M-Mom, please!”

One of the assassins must’ve made a sound because Mom looks up and spots Cha-Cha stood in the doorway of Ben’s room. She pauses. “Hello,” she says with a sweet smile. “Are you friends of the children?”

Cha-Cha laughs. “Something like that.” Then she opens fire.

Diego screams as the bullets go straight through his body and into Mom’s, destroying the wall of the hallway around her. She doesn’t make a sound as she falls, Five’s laundry scattered from her arms. Cha-Cha stops to reload. There is no blood, but maybe that’s worse. He’s yelling now, just wordless noises of devastation.

“NO!” Diego falls to his knees besides Mom, knowing instinctively that it’s already too late to save her, even if he were able to do something. Tar-black oil is seeping through the satin of her shirt to expose the glowing blue circuits and wires within her chest. “No, no...” Her skin flickers unnaturally, revealing the wiring beneath her artificial shell.

“What the hell?” mutters Hazel, hands on his hips. “What kind of messed-up family _is_ this?”

“I dunno, but hurry up - let’s find the kid and get out of here before someone comes to investigate the noise.”

Then, as if Mom means nothing to these people, as if she’s just the machine Luther and Allison always saw her as, they step over her dying body and walk off down the hallway. One of them is whistling. Diego has never hated a person more, not Harold Jenkins, not Vanya, not _Dad_ -

His breath catches when he finally looks at Mom’s face. Her eyes are open and she’s is going to die thinking she’s alone; none of her family there to comfort her in her final moments, nobody to tell her that it’s okay, nobody to tell her that they love her... “No, _please,_ just hang on...” Diego knows exactly how it feels to die, cold and lonely, wanting somebody there. He’s _not_ going to let Mom feel that way too. “Please. He imagines that he can feel the heat of her body, the soft cotton of her skirt, even through the veil of death that separates them. “Mom, listen to me.” She can’t hear him, but he has to _try._ “Listen...don’t b-bbb _be_ scared.”

“Children...” she says, smiling as if they’re right in front of her. Maybe, to her, they are. Diego hopes so. “Luther...Allison...” She calls for them, despite all they’ve said, despite all they’ve wanted to do to her. At heart, she’ll always be their mom.

“Don’t be scared,” he repeats and, for the first time in eight years, Diego has tears slipping down his face. They pool in the neck of his shirt, hot and sticky with sweat. “It’s gonna be okay.”

She turns her head, just an inch, but it’s enough for him to see the unnatural blue of her eyes, the pain on her face. “Five...Klaus...”

“They’re here, Mom,” he says and his voice is choked with emotion. “We’re all here.”

“Vanya...” Her breath puffs from her chest. “...Ben...”

“That’s right. Ben will be there and - and so will I. We’ll be together again,” His vision blurs with tears, turning Mom’s beautiful face into one smear of color. He blinks them away, shaking his head, because he needs to see her this one last time, make sure she knows he’s here. “And you’ll never have to see Dad again. Never.”

He coughs and that brings with it a sob. “It’ll be beautiful, Mom! Like all your favorite paintings wrapped up into w-w- _one.”_ His voice cracks and he finally lets the tears flow freely, pouring in rivers down his cheeks. “There’s no pain, no sadness and you’ll be _free_ \- you can go anywhere you w-want and I -" _I’ll be with you, I’ll stay for as long as you want me, Mom, I love you -_

“Diii-e-goooo,” she slurs. Her expression creases, like she’s in immense pain, and then her head slumps to one side. Her eyes, normally so full of immense love, glaze over and - and -

_“Mom!”_ Vanya comes sprinting down the hall and falls to her knees on Mom’s other side. She takes her hand, and Diego burns with resentment at the sight of her offering Mom the comfort he couldn’t. “No,” she whispers. “No! Mom!”

Diego stumbles to his feet. He shakes his head, backing away. Vanya is already doing more for Mom than he ever could. She died alone, not knowing he was there, so his words, as pretty as he’d tried to make them, had meant nothing. They’d _done_ _nothing._

He flees.

* * *

Luther’s going through his stuff.

Diego’s not...surprised to see it, but it’s still a bit alarming to come back from _wherever he goes_ when he doesn’t want to be a ghost anymore, and find his newly-huge brother upending his drawers.  “Is now the right time to be doing this?” he asks. He’s tired, as much as ghosts can be tired anyway, and his voice sounds it. “Our Mom just _died,_ Luther. Don’t you ever just...wanna take a break from being a paranoid piece of shit?”

Luther, as Luthers are prone to do, does not reply. In fact, he dumps a stack of old math worksheets on the floor and sits back on his heels, head in his hands. “Damn it,” he mutters. Diego thinks his brother looks surprisingly small down there, digging through Diego’s childhood things for clues as to his whereabouts. What’s he expecting to find, exactly? A map with directions?

There’s the sound of movement out in the hall and Pogo steps into sight, leaning on his cane with a peculiar expression on his face. “Master Luther?”

Luther falls back onto his ass in surprise. He shakes his head and offers the butler a tense smile. “Pogo, I...didn’t see you there.”

“As I gathered,” Pogo replies dryly. “Might I be of assistance in your search? I doubt your brother would appreciate you rifling through his belongings.”

“Yeah,” Diego agrees, but honestly he doesn’t really care. What use is any of this stuff to him now? Ben may have figured out how to summon books and milkshakes, but Diego’s still clueless. If Luther wants to rifle through all this junk, then Diego gives him his blessing. “What he said.”

“He’ll get over,” Luther replies. He gets to his feet, slow, and surveys the destruction he’s created. “But...I suppose I did go a bit overboard.”

“And I’ve also seen the mess you’ve made of Master Five’s room.”

“Five too?” Diego sticks his head through the wall. Sure enough, Five’s things have all been ransacked and dumped out of his dresser and side tables onto the floor. Damn, the little guy is _not_ going to be happy about that. Their brother is touchy about people messing up his carefully organized belongings. “Nice one, Luther.”

“That was for something different.”

Pogo tilts an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’m just...when was the last time you saw Diego, Pogo? Has Dad spoken about him lately?”

Pogo looks surprised, briefly, and then conflicted. “Your father spoke often of you all, Master Luther.” Diego knows a non-answer when he sees one. Pogo is Dad’s little henchman, after all, so they all know can’t be trusted to tell the truth about their father’s dirty schemes. Why is Luther even bothering?

“But _Diego_ in particular. Any mention of where he lives now? What he’s been doing all these years?” Luther presses.

Diego cocks his head at that. Is Luther...worried about him? Has he sensed that there’s something going on? Out of all his siblings, Luther is probably the last person he expected to notice that Diego was...incommunicado. His head was so far up Dad’s ass that it was impossible for him to see anything other than shit, but...maybe that was an overestimation. Luther was a smart guy, yeah, so it stood to reason he might see something was off. He was the one who’d spoken to Dora, after all. Diego’s stomach twisted with anxiety at the thought of what big bad Luther would do if he found out the truth. Probably something dangerous and/or incredibly stupid.

“I’m afraid not,” Pogo says. “If your father knew of his whereabouts, he did not share this knowledge with me. Have you tried his study? There may be -"

“I’ve already looked there!” Luther yells, huge chest heaving like the bellows. He looks embarrassed about his outburst, but soldiers on regardless. “I know something’s not _right,_ Pogo. Dad’s notes mentioned a police station and I went down and met Diego’s friend, but she said she hasn’t spoken to him in _years!_ And - and now some guys turn up and kill Mom? All while looking for Five? It’s off, right?”

Luther’s wide-eyed and Pogo carefully observes him as if he thinks Luther should be committed - like he’s now off his rocker more than he already was after five years alone on the moon. “Master Luther,” Pogo says carefully.

“He’s gaslighting you,” Diego helpfully informs his brother. It’s no big surprise to him that Pogo would convince Luther he was overthinking things and being paranoid. Being around Dad as long as Luther has been would permanently fuck up your rational thinking and even Pogo just implying that Luther was being ridiculous would have the big guy sinking into a slump of embarrassment. Pogo is clearly taking advantage of that very fact.

“You’ve been through a tremendous ordeal these last few days, especially last night, so it makes sense you may be feeling a sense of heightened emotions. Perhaps I should call your sister -“

“No!” The shout rings out in the room, cutting off Pogo’s attempts at being a calming influence. Diego jumps, his heart fluttering in surprise. Man, Luther is _upset._ And all this is...over Diego? “No,” Luther repeats, his tone now slightly more controlled. His huge, gloved hands creak into fists. _“Don’t_ call Allison.” He doesn't want _Allison?_ What the hell is going on with Luther?

Pogo scrutinizes Luther, but can clearly see there’s nothing more he can say to convince him. “Very well.” He steps back into the hall, turns to leave. But, as if pulled by a strange force, he pauses and glances back at Luther with a peculiar expression. Like he’s conflicted about something. “Master Luther...”

Luther sighs. “What is it?”

“May I suggest...speaking with Master Five about this? If you believe he is more involved in Master Diego’s absence then previously assumed, he may feel so inclined as to enlighten you, if you were to ask.”

“Involved,” Luther repeats, brow furrowed. “Pogo, I never said Five was -" He looks to the doorway, but Pogo’s already gone. “...involved.”

* * *

Diego catches up to Pogo upstairs. “Hey, hang on!” he calls, racing down the hall. “Wait a damn minute, you crazy old monkey!”

Pogo’s stood outside Dad’s office, rifling through a ring of keys Diego has never seen before, despite living unseen in this house for the past year or so. He looks...oddly suspicious.

“What was that all about?” Diego asks. “Are you trying to turn Luther against all of us? First, he thinks I killed Dad, now he’s starting to think Five killed me. What’s next - Allison killed Mom?” But he knows that would never happen, as Luther would rather die than think badly of his precious _Number Three._

He follows Pogo inside the office and is surprised to see him open a drawer in the huge oak desk Diego had never worked up the nerve to go near when he was a kid. “What are you up to?”

The drawer is neatly filled with paperwork, most labeled ‘tax returns’, or ‘bill’. It’s nothing interesting and definitely not worth sneaking around for. Diego eyes Pogo’s nervous expression and folds his arms.

Pogo empties the drawer onto the desk, neatly but fast, as if he’s scared of being caught. At the bottom, underneath an old utility bill, is a small hole in the wood. It’s shallow, barely noticeable, and Diego admits he probably would not have noticed it if he hadn’t been scrutinizing Pogo’s actions. That’s Dad alright, always a paranoid bastard.

“What the hell?” He watches, with a frown on his face, as Pogo fumbles a small golden key on the ring and fits it into the hole. There’s a click and, when he pulls it up, the entire bottom of the drawer lifts as well. “Sure. Oh, of course! Jesus Christ.” _Of course,_ Dad had a secret compartment in his desk. Why wouldn’t he? The old man really was one of a kind...

Diego leans over Pogo’s shoulder, straining to see around the bend of his furry head. Nestled in the drawer, looking unassuming, in a brown manilla folder, and only one of them. It looks...familiar. Pogo takes it out with careful hands and slips it into his jacket, quick-fingered. Then he re-locks the secret compartment and puts all the papers back where they belonged.

“Everything okay?”

Pogo jumps. Somehow, Luther had made it down the hallway without his ridiculously loud footsteps being heard on the wooden floorboards. He’s standing, looking half-curious and half-suspicious, right ahead of them in the doorway. How much had he seen of Pogo’s little foray into theft? Had he noticed the folder? Was he suspicious?

“Master Luther!” Pogo says, feigning disapproval. Diego can see his throat bobs as he swallows, though. The old monkey’s dead nervous and Diego would know. “Do try not to sneak up on me like that! I’m getting on in the years, you know.”

“Right,” Luther says, frowning. Diego knows his brother well, can see the cogs in his brain working double-time. He doesn’t believe Pogo. “Why are you going through Dad’s things?”

“Me? No, no, no.” Pogo shakes his head. He tapes his fingers on his cane. “I was just tidying. With Grace...no longer with us, I thought I better start getting on top of the house’s upkeep. I fear we may need to hire a housekeeper, though.”

“Right,” Luther repeats. “A housekeeper. Well...I’m going out. Gonna go look for Five. I won’t be long.”

“I do hope you find him,” says Pogo, smiling. Diego narrows his eyes. “Let me know if you require any assistance.”

“...Will do. Bye, Pogo.”

“Goodbye, Master Luther.”

Luther clomps away and Pogo stays very still until the sound of the front door opening and closing echoes throughout the house. Then he sighs, looking very tired indeed. 

He takes the folder out of his jacket and places it carefully on the desk. Diego takes a closer look; it’s thick, filled with at least 50 sheets of paper, but that’s not what catches his eye. On the front tab, written in Dad’s handwriting is: _‘NUMBER TWO (D)’._

What the hell? “Is this...my file? The one Dad kept on me?”

Pogo opens it and flicks through to the back. There are separators spacing out each section, most of them by date, but a few by notable events. Diego sees photographs of himself flash past, gradually getting older, and catches a glimpse of blueprints of buildings, all notated with improvements on mission placement and targets. It’s like some kind of fucked-up report card on his life.

The last divider is where Pogo stops. It’s not labeled, unlike the others, but there are a few pieces of paper behind it.

Pogo pauses for a moment, obviously considering if he’s making the right decision, and then rips the entire thing out of the folder. Diego jumps at the sight and sound of their usually-composed butler being so violent. “Pogo?”

“Oh,” Pogo sighs. He folds the leftover stack and puts it in his waistcoat pocket. Diego follows him back out into the hall, his mind still racing. Why the hell is Pogo stealing a part of his file? And why was it kept so hidden in Dad’s desk like that?

There’s a filing cabinet in the security room, one Diego had thought only held some of the many alphabetically-organized tapes Dad obsessively kept.But instead, it’s neatly filled with six other files identical to the one Pogo is holding. They’re named _‘Number One (A)’, ‘Number Two (D)’, ‘Number Three (R)’, ‘Number Four’ (R), ’Number Five’ (M), ‘Number Six (D)’_ and _‘Number Seven’ (R)._

“D?” Diego repeats. He’d assumed the corresponding letter had stood for their first name - as in D for Diego, but clearly that wasn’t the case... “A? R? Pogo, what the hell do all these letters mean?” And why was Diego’s file separated from the others’?

Pogo neatly slides ‘Number Two (D)’ between Luther and Allison’s files, then closes the drawer. He nods to himself, relieved. “It had to be done.”

_“What_ had to be done?” Diego demands. “Pogo? What did you _do?”_

* * *

**March 27th** **, 2019**

“This seems ill-advised,” Diego tells his sister. He's leaning up against a streetlight, arms folded in disapproval as he watches her. Allison's being incredibly unsubtle as she loiters at a newspaper stall, magazine in hand but her gaze resolutely fixed on the small café across the street. The one where, _oh-so-coincidentally,_ Vanya is sitting in the window.

He’d seen Allison leaving early that morning and had tailed her to Vanya’s apartment. Diego had, admittedly, gotten pretty distracted by the old lady with the sex swing who lived below Vanya, but he’d figured the gist of what was going on. Vanya had a boyfriend and Allison didn’t like him. She thought he was...up to something. Whatever that meant.

Diego had been more surprised about the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing, honestly. He knew Vanya liked girls, but he had thought she _only_ liked girls. After all, she’d never been one to fawn over boyband magazines with Allison and Klaus when they were kids, more focused on her violin than romance.

Allison taps her foot anxiously, but soon seems to get frustrated at, not only the lack of audio for the conversation, but the fact that Vanya and her mysterious beau were sitting in a position highly unhelpful for someone wishing to spy on them. She tosses the magazine back onto the rack and rubs at the faint bags under her eyes.

“You need to get some sleep,” Diego says. “Take it from someone who can’t anymore.” God, what he wouldn’t give to just close his eyes and _dream._ He ached for the sensation of waking up in warm sheets, of wasting hours just drifting in and out of awareness...the crisp smell of fresh laundry...the downy softness of a plumped-up pillow...

He shakes his head free of those depressing thoughts.

“God,” Allison finally mutters to herself. “What am I doing?” She looks upset, as if she’s only just realized that spying on your sister and her boyfriend’s date was pretty morally wrong. And also a waste of time. What’s she hoping to gain from this anyway? Blackmail fodder? Proof that Vanya’s life is just as shitty as her own?

He remembered the cold steel of her eyes as she said _“I’m with Luther”_ back in the family meeting - the unbothered way she’d voted on Mom’s fate like she was no better than a piece of furniture they’d been saddled with in Dad’s will. Like she hadn’t kissed their skinned knees, or read them to sleep, or been the _only_ person who had _ever_ loved them unconditionally.

Remembering all that, Diego found it hard to feel sorry for her. Did he pity his sister? Eh. ...Did he think she deserved everything she’d gotten; in her marriage, with her kid, all those hardships? That and more. She was the only one of them who was even halfway close to being functional in life and it was all built on lies and misuse of her powers. How could she be proud of that?

“Just go home, Allison,” he says, his voice wan. Diego is beginning to find he preferred it when he was stuck at the Academy with just Dad, Pogo, and Mom for company. It was boring, sure, but less emotionally taxing. “Go home, pack your stuff, and leave.” _We don’t want you here. Go back to your family._

He wanders across the street, hands in his pockets. Allison leaves eventually, probably to go flirt with Luther again, and so Diego finds himself at a bit of a loss. Should he stay? Keep an eye on Vanya? It wasn’t like he could do anything if she did get herself into trouble. Or...should he go looking for Klaus and Ben? They’d left the conversation in an awkward place when Luther had found that tape and Diego doesn’t want the only two people who can see him to suddenly hate his guts.

But he hasn’t seen Klaus since before Mom...died. Nor Ben, for that matter. It stood to reason, as they were both missing, that Klaus had run off to find a new score, to meet with his dealer. Diego’s not sure he wants to witness his brother high out of his mind and potential in a dangerous situation, thanks, so perhaps it’d be best to wait for them to return to the Academy.

In which case...he needs to go home. He eyes Vanya’s smiling face through the fogged glass of the café, nodding to himself. She seems happy enough. Still, Diego had really been surprised about the whole _boy_ friend thing; he’s not supernaturally observant like Five, but he’d thought his sister’s taste in women had been pretty apparent.

“This guy must be pretty special,” Diego mutters to himself. Allison certainly hadn’t seemed too pleased, if her spying on Vanya’s date was any indication. Was he the _bad boy_ type? Someone Allison was familiar with? A ladies’ man?

There’s another ghost lumbering down the street, only a few feet away from Diego, and, though she doesn’t seem too interested in him, he can't risk it. The gore running from her throat screamed ‘violent homicide’ and he really would rather not have that smeared over his clothes if she attacked. He hasn’t worked out how Ben changed his from the uniform he’d died in, and being eternally wearing someone else’s blood is not on his bucket list.

He steps through the front door of the café and is immediately hit by a wall of noise. It’s busy-ish, with jaunty music playing over the loudspeakers. Were he able to smell, Diego thought the air would be warm with fresh pastries and hot coffee. Homely and sweet - the perfect atmosphere for an early-days date. It would’ve been nice to bring Dora to a place like this...

“Am I gonna have to shovel-talk you, pal?” Diego asks, mostly for his own amusement. He gets the feeling Allison had already gotten that part covered. “Make sure you’re good enough for...my...sister...”

Diego’s been dead for a long time.

Today marks 7 years, 3 months and 22 days since some asshole with a grudge put a bullet in his head and dumped his body in a drainage ditch. Each day, especially the first few, had been hard. He’d wondered why, demanded some higher power to tell him what he’d done to deserve this - why _him._ There had never been an answer and, though forever envious of the people he’s witnessed wasting what he yearns for, he’s gotten mostly over it. He liked seeing Ben again. He liked staying with Mom, make sure she’d been happy. He’d liked seeing people vulnerable, acting only as they did because they were more than certain they were alone. It was quite humbling, in a sorta-predatory kind of way.

Still, those achingly lonely days and nights, where he would rage and cry at the unfairness of it all, they would forever pale in comparison to _this._ To seeing his sister, sweet Vanya who’d never hurt a fly, only write a _book_ about it, _expose every single one of its awful secrets to the world,_ smiling and touching the hand of the guy who’d murdered him. That cold December night, those steady hands, those cold, unfeeling eyes -

“No,” Diego says, but his voice is very, very quiet. “No, no, no, _no -"_ He stumbles back, away, away, and goes through a lady with a stroller. Diego falls on his ass, knees to his chest, but he can’t tear his eyes away from the man sitting across from his sister.

From - from -

“Harold Jenkins,” he says, mouth numb. “You’re - you -"

Jenkins takes a calm sip of his coffee. “Well, you two are spending a lot of quality time together, huh?” He smiles, friendly and approachable in his navy blue sweater, dark hair tousled boyishly. Diego heaves, his empty stomach swirling and clenching in his ribcage. Oh god. _How?_ How could this _happen?_

“Sorta,” says Vanya. She has her sleeves tucked down over her hands, arms folded on the table. Even so, despite the nervous body language, her face is open. She’s turned towards Jenkins as if he’s a planet and she’s a satellite orbiting him. “We haven’t seen each other in years. Ever since she’s been back, she’s been...trying to be a big sister.”

“Uh-huh.”

Diego gets back to his feet. He wobbles closer, braces his hands on the table between the pair. His head, swinging frantically, can’t stop looking at the face of the man who blew his skull open. Jenkins looks older and his style seems to err towards ‘soft’ and ‘non-threatening’ rather than ‘crazy’ now, but other than that he’s the same. It’s definitely him. Diego could pick him out of a crowd, could recognize the sound of his voice over a thousand others. Has seen those eyes, that _face,_ every time he blinked, imprinted on the inside of his eyelids.

Vanya shakes her head in a ‘what can you do?’ Sort of way. “Even though we’re the same age.” Is she? She’s...she’s talking about their _family._ She’s telling the guy who _killed her brother_ all about their siblings. Was the book not enough? Was that not enough _revenge_ for her? Has Diego, even in the afterlife, not gotten enough karma for her liking?

“You are?”

_“‘You are?’”_ Diego repeats, spitting. “Don’t you - oh, don’t play _dumb.”_

“We were all born on the same day.”

“Oh, right! Right. The, uh...uh, whole umbrella thing.”

_“...You’re from the Umbrella Academy, aren’t you?...”_

“I forgot that.”

_“...No, no - you’re Number Two, right? The knife-thrower...”_

“That must’ve been weird.”

_“...I know you Umbrella Academy types. Always wanting to play the hero...”_

“You have no idea,” Vanya sighs. ”I mean, no birthday boy, no birthday girl, just birthday kids. Can you imagine sharing your birthday with six, world-famous, assholes who all know they’re better than you?”

_“...A fan? I’m no fan of yours, Number Two...”_

Diego looks at his hands. They’re shaking. Vanya, small, stupid Vanya, has no idea, does she? She doesn’t...she doesn’t know; he -

He finds his voice. “What do you want from us?” Stay away from my family - don’t - _please_ don’t hurt them -

Jenkins scoffed. “I can’t.” Hearing Jenkins’ voice - it’s -

_“...I just want you to do one thing for me...”_

Diego watches, frozen, as Jenkins reaches over to gently touch Vanya’s arm. It’s no more than a mere brush, entirely harmless, but his stomach drops down to his shoes. 

_“...Just remember my name, got it? It’s going to be written in the history books...”_

“Get the hell away from my sister!” He yells, but his voice echoes to no one. Even the slit-throated ghost outside barely twitches. There’s nobody to hear you scream when you’re already dead, after all. “Vanya! Vanya, listen to me!”

“Maybe I will have some coffee.” She tips the contents of the closest shaker into her cup, unaware of the way Jenkins is looking at her, the way he’s eyeing her up like a piece of meat, like a bug to step on - the same way he looked at _Diego_ on _December Fucking 6th, 2011_.

“Vanya!” He tries, but she doesn’t blink, doesn’t twitch, not even as his hands go through her arm. “Vanya, _please!”_

“You know...I don’t think your sister likes me very much.” Allison. Allison...? She - she must’ve suspected something. Why else would she spy on this disgusting little - he can’t even call it a _date_ in his own head. It’s a fucking _farce,_ is what it is. A scam. Diego falls away from the table again, sickened.

“No. No, it’s...She just doesn’t think I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“She may have a point,” Vanya looks at him and her smile slides away. Is she seeing what Diego does? Is Jenkins revealing his true personality? Will she run? Will he chase her? What could Diego do if - “You did just put salt in your coffee.”

“Oh shit, sorry.” The two of them burst into giggles and Diego shatters. “I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.” More somber, Vanya looks down at her hands. “I got a call earlier that...they’re holding auditions for the first chair in my orchestra.”

“Woah, wait a second, what happened to the...to the other girl?”

Vanya shrugs. “I don’t know. She just stopped showing up.”

Diego knows. He knows _immediately._ Jenkins killed this other girl too, likely dumped her body next to Diego’s own in that ditch, and he’s doing it to get close to Vanya.

She’s his next target and Jenkins is playing the slow game this time.

He’s _hunting._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs:
> 
> \- Major Character Death (i'm so sorry Grace...)  
> \- Diego not liking himself or his siblings very much  
> \- Harold Jenkins


End file.
